After the Fall
by athenaprime
Summary: COMPLETE! Post-Knights of the Old Republic (KOTOR) game (spoilers). Saving the galaxy doesn't mean all your problems go away. Follow the crew of the Ebon Hawk as they take an epic journey into their own dark sides in the quest for Happily Ever After.
1. Going Under

Disclaimer: I own nothing, save for the personality of my PC character. LucasArts and BioWare own everything. I'm only playing with them. I promise to put them all back neatly when I'm done.

A/N:Takes place after the events of the bestselling game Knights of the Old Republic. SPOILERS for the game are present. Angst/Drama/Romance and smart remarks abound. Please read/review, and enjoy!

Going Under

Revan

The journey to Coruscant should have been one of relaxed celebration. The Star Forge was no more, Malak was no more, and I--well, let's just say the gamble the Jedi Council made on me paid off at incredible odds. I destroyed their Star Forge, killed their villain, and saved the princess. Or at least, didn't kill her outright for turning on us. Actually, all I did was bring back her body. Her heart still beat, but the Bastila that started on this quest was as dead as any of those mad fiends buried in the valley on Korriban.

Bastila was a lost soul. Like me. To say I've had an identity crisis would be an understatement of galactic proportions. I keep seeing the look on Carth's face as he told the rest of the crew that Revan--I--was responsible for the destruction of his homeworld. I couldn't deny it, even though I couldn't remember it, either. But at that moment, I started becoming aware of the repercussions of my actions as Revan. 

When Bastila revealed the truth of my past, it was as if she'd deactivated a shield around something that had always been there. But the Leviathan was no place to react. I kept it together in order to escape. I had to, or Malak would have killed me.

Then when we returned to the Hawk, Carth's lack of warmth rivaled that of interstellar space. All that had passed between us since Taris--the bond of fragile trust we built, the flirting, the friendship, the attraction beneath it--seemed to mean nothing to him.

My nightmares are filled with his expression as we confronted the rest of the crew. I have Canderous to thank for coming to my defense. Sure, I didn't blow up Carth's homeworld personally, but I built the army that did. I commanded the loyalty of the man that betrayed him. The guilt hit me long before any memories did.

Mission and Zaalbar's loyal declarations threw me. If anything, I expected them to be the most horrified at my revelation. But Juhani--she broke me.

She'd always looked at me with a bit of hero-worship in her eyes, and now that she discovered that the Revan who freed her from slavery as a child and the Noura who turned her back to the light were one and the same--and me--the awe in her eyes broke me. I ran from the room and headed for the cargo hold. I collapsed on the ground there and let the emotions I'd been holding at bay finally overwhelm me. I lay there on the cold deck plates and cried for what felt like years, tears seeping from my cheeks onto the cold metal of the decking.

Mission brought me some water at some point. She said nothing, simply stroked my hair, her head-tails reaching towards me. I hunched into myself, unwilling to take pity or sympathy. I was the Dark Lord of the Sith. I didn't deserve her compassion.

Juhani came next. She sang a Cathari lullabye and left me with a package of soft pink Dantooine cheese. I don't remember eating it, but I remember licking the wrapper. Strange how shell-shock can hit you in the weirdest places.

Just when I thought I might be ready to face another being again, the last person I wanted to see entered the cargo hold.

"Carth," I said, my voice rusty and hoarse. But I drew myself up and scrubbed at my face with one hand. I couldn't deny I'd been crying, but the least I could do was try to keep him from belaboring the obvious. "You wanna tell me how we're going to go on?"

"I suppose we have to trust each other for the time being," he said. "But I'll be watching you."

I ached for the time when I wouldn't have let that comment go unanswered with a saucy retort. Only I didn't feel very saucy at the moment.

"And if you do the slightest thing to hurt the Republic, or if you turn on us--"

The pain and anguish of hearing him say those words snapped something in me. I snatched one of the blasters from his side holster and pressed the barrel to my temple. "Why don't you do it right now and save some time?" I said.

He reached for the blaster to pull it away, but I put my hand over his. Despair gave me strength and I kept him from pulling his hand away or pulling the blaster away from my head. "Come on, Carth," I said recklessly. "Do it."

"Noura, stop this."

"Come on," I said, "You've been saying all along that you'd love to put a blaster to Revan's head. Now's your chance. Take your vengeance. The galaxy'll thank you."

He looked down at me, his eyes bottomless pools of dark and I realized he must be feeling as lost and desperate as I was. I moved the blaster away from my temple and pushed it down to rest against my sternum. "Shoot here if you want it to hurt more," I said, barely in a whisper.

I don't know how long we stood like that, a motionless tableau. It felt like forever. My hand loosened on the blaster, as did his. It clattered to the ground between us.

"I don't know how you go on," he whispered. "What they did to you--"

The last, uncried tears dried behind my eyes. "I don't have any other choice," I said.

"I need time to--to wrap my mind around all of this."

Time was what we didn't have. Especially now that the dark part of me had a name. "Promise me," I said, thinking of Mission and Juhani, and the fact that they'd placed their fragile destinies in my hands. "Promise me, you'll do what's--what's necessary if I--fall."

Bleak pain twisted his features, but he nodded grimly. "I won't let you betray the Republic."

If anything, I felt even closer to Carth after that. Death brings an intimacy of sorts between executioner and condemned. Trusting Carth to be my executioner seemed to open up a new bond between us. A dark one, to be sure, but it hung there in our shared space.

Trusting him to be my executioner allowed me to go on to Manaan, and while Bastila's capture haunted me with guilt and fear, I was able to focus on finding the final star map.

Then came the Rakata homeworld. We stood on the beach and he said, "I've tried to hate you for your past, and I just can't do it." He toed the sand, reminding me of a little boy. "You gave me something to live for after--after Saul. Let me do the same for you. Let me give you something to live for." He looked up at me again. "Let me give you a future. With me. I think...I could love you."

Joy and sorrow clashed within me. Don't say that, I thought desperately. Instead, I gave him the truth that I owed him, after all the layers of lies. "I--I think I could love you, too," I said. In my heart, and at the time, I was certain I wouldn't have the chance. 

Now our roles reversed. I was the one with the death-wish, and he was the caretaker of hope.

The fact that I outlived the Star Forge was an unexpected kink in my future. They wanted to give me a medal, to commend me. It's ridiculous. All I essentially did was clean up the mess I had made myself, something to be expected of any three year-old child. Only I'd killed millions with my toys before I cleaned them up.

I even brought back Bastila, but their precious doll was broken. And without the constant battling and the overriding quest to defeat the Sith, I suddenly found plenty of time to think and remember and relive.

And the ghosts of my past rose up to demand vengeance.

The nightmares plagued me. I'm ashamed to say I've been popping stims and adrenal modifiers like they were candy. A hazy wall of fog seemed to separate me from the rest of the crew, even Carth. I was drowning in the desert, frozen in the center of a star about to go nova.


	2. Heroes No More

Heroes No More

Carth

In the end, everyone got what they wanted because of us. The Jedi Order got their victory over the Sith, the Republic got their galaxy back, the Rakatans got their redemption, the galaxy got itself back in balance.

But what we wanted, didn't matter. After the parades and the flag-waving, the endless repetition of the holovids of our crosses of honor, the Order and the Republic began parceling us up like the spoils of war. A war we had fought and won for them. 

The smiling, triumphant faces of galactic heroes had long since faded from our faces, leaving behind empty, hollow rictus grins and gritted teeth. Frayed nerves shredded and snapped, dress uniform collars dug in where they shouldn't and shiny dress boots left blisters where all our battling had left none.

Revan gritted her teeth and slagged on, setting an example for the rest of us. She still had nightmares--we all heard her screaming in the middle of the night. But even I couldn't get her to talk about them. Masters Vrook and Vandar ordered her to a strict schedule of meditations and exercises that absorbed her every waking moment that wasn't already taken up by waving and smiling to crowds. Bastila also meditated, her meditations dogged and, in my opinion, brutally self-punishing. It showed in her eyes and the slump of her once-proud shoulders. Jolee stomped around whatever hotel quarters we'd been given and while Juhani showed an outward appearance of serenity, save for anxious glances at her fellow Jedi, I still noticed a lot more cat hair around than should normally have been.

Mission remained the most upbeat, her adolescent energy carrying her through a lot more than what the rest of us were willing to put up with. But her head-tails didn't wave and weave like they used to. Canderous was grouchier than ever, although I suspect that has as much to do with being thought a hero as it does being put through the kath-hound and pony show. Zaalbar--well, either he's got a bad case of mange or he's purposely trying to offend the diplomats that swarm around us like bat-flies. I'm hoping for the latter, myself.

* * *


	3. Warped

Warped

Canderous

I should have known something was wrong as soon as we finished, exhausted but triumphant, the battle at the Star Forge with the Sith. I blame Noura. Or Revan, or whoever she wants to call herself today. Not for the wrongness, but for my awareness of it. Before throwing in my lot with her, I would have seen nothing wrong with the situation as it played out. But now, after living with her ideas of right, wrong, and atonement, I'm seeing more. And I don't like it.

I never made a secret about how pretentious I thought Bastila was during our mission. I took every opportunity to knock the little Jedi Princess down a few pegs. She certainly didn't have a problem throwing anything I tossed at her right back in my own face.

But after the Battle of the Star Forge--Juhani and Revan told me how she turned to the Dark Side--I should have seen there was something not quite right.

The silly award ceremony before the Republic Senate touched me in ways I'd have beaten one of my soldiers for. Sentimental bantha-crap. But like I said, when Revan's around, she warps people's perspectives. Kind of like a black hole. I felt like I made a difference. Battle should be fought merely for its own sake, not for ideals. Ideals just muddy up the fact that it's you versus the other guy, and one of you is going down.

But no, instead, that ridiculous kath-and-dewback show made me feel like I'd at least redeemed myself for spending so much time as Davik Kang's--what was it that Bastila called me on Dantooine?--trained Kath hound.

When Master Vrook spoke of Revan's redemption, our battered leader smiled a small smile, but even I, Force-blind as I am, could feel the joy and relief radiating from her. 

Bastila happened to be standing next to me, and I felt her go stiff. At first, I assumed it was because she wanted the glory. Bastila's spent her life being told how much of a valuable asset she is to the Republic. That kind of thing can get addictive. I should know. The duel in the Dune Sea on Tatooine with Jagy made me wonder if the little mongrel had a point and I had done something stupid for glory.

After that ceremony, it seemed inevitable that we all would start to fall apart. The Republic presented us with a long list of duties, appearances, and assignments that mostly had us smiling and waving and wearing silly clothes with too much gold braid and not enough ordnance. Revan's joy drained away like sluice down a Tarisian sewer, and Carth, that lovesick idiot, went down with her. Even Mission seemed fitful, but I've always been willing to give that little girl more credit than the others. She's young, not stupid, and not blind.

We were berthed on the Stella Arcos, a big Republic Capital cruiser with bedrooms, a mess, and a rec room. Revan and Carth chose to stay on board the Ebon Hawk, but I was no fool. The rest of us chose to avail ourselves of private quarters while the getting was good.

I should have guessed something was warped when Bastila appeared at my door late one night. 

* * *


	4. Red Shift

Red-Shift

Revan

I wanted to reach out to them, but I didn't know how. Bastila was the only person I seemed to be able to share some connection with. But that's only because I'm observant. The same beast that gnawed at my entrails ate at hers. "Join me in meditation?" I asked.

She nodded and we settled in meditative postures. We practiced manipulating small objects to warm up, then sank into that expanded awareness I had come to expect from being a Jedi. I let the life force of the people around us, and the people on the Stella Arcos where we were berthed, flow through me. The rainbow of personalities never failed to awe me.

But the color-shift in that rainbow was subtly different. Bastila's calming coolness, her arrogant confidence, was different. A broken doll, I thought. 

Tendrils of red and black recriminations wove through Bastila's psyche, and their cousins in my own mind reached out and danced. My own pain and guilt called to hers and despair threatened to overwhelm me. An unfamiliar need surfaced, the need for pain, punishment. Absolution.

I couldn't say whether it came from me or her, but it frightened me to the core and I broke the connection.

Our eyes met, her blue-green ones as frightened as I felt. Down the hall, from Mission's room, we heard a cry.

I ran from Bastila to Mission. The Twi'lek girl sat up in her bed as I came through the door, having shocked the lock to get to her.

Tears streamed down her face.

"Mission!" I ran to her side.

She looked at me and swiped at her face with the back of her hand. I sat down on the bed next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. Her head-tails reached out to me, stroking my own shoulders in kind. "It was awful," she said, sniffling.

"What happened?"

"I--a dream, I guess. But it was so real," she said. "I was somewhere, and all of a sudden, it was like, I hurt. Really bad. So bad that the only thing I wanted to do was to hit myself more, until the pain broke apart inside me."

The feeling was all-too-familiar to me. "It's okay, Mission. It was just a dream." Ashamed of myself and my own actions, I waved my hand and used the Force to erase the dream from her mind.


	5. Shatterpoint

Shatterpoint

Canderous

"Yeah, what do you want," I said through the door at whoever knocked.

"Open up." Her cultured, haughty voice floated through the panel.

I opened the door, thinking she was about to alert me to some new disaster--three days of quiet was making me jumpy. Instead, she threw a wooden quarterstaff at me. "Come on."

I caught the stick by reflex. "What?"

"There's a combat practice room on this level. Or are you too tired to fight." She stalked off, her plain black jumpsuit a blot of darkness in the well-lit corridor.

What can I say? I followed her. Nobody accuses a Mandalorian of being too tired to fight. Nobody that wants to live, anyway. 

Maybe I should have wondered about that. But I didn't. At the time, I was simply relieved to be doing something besides lounging around like a hutt and watching swoop races and second-rate holovids just to avoid seeing my own ugly mug on the news.

As soon as we entered the room, she turned on me and flurried. Her movements were clumsy and awkward. "Too used to your fancy Jedi weapon, huh, girlie?" I taunted her.

"Shut up and fight me, old man."

I flurried the quarterstaff in front of me and took a shot at her hip. I didn't expect to make it, but it got through her defenses and the crack of wood against flesh and bone echoed through the room. "Sloppy, sloppy," I said.

She brought the quarterstaff up between my legs and nearly unmanned me, but I've spent my life as a warrior, and while there are a milion ways to strike where it hurts, the ones who live find a million and one ways to block that shot. "Was it something I said, Princess?" This was getting fun.

She clobbered at me, our staves cracking as they met in the air above our heads. She ducked under my guard and shoved the middle of her staff into my chest, pushing me back a few steps. I brought my own staff down to land a kidney shot and she yelped.

I should have seen then. Mandalorians don't tend to spar with protective padding because we like a little realism in our practice sessions. I'd gotten in my third blow by the time I realized that she wasn't using the Force to soften them and blood welled from her knuckles.

She tossed the quarterstaff aside and swiped at her face with the back of her hand, leaving streaks of blood from her knuckles over her forehead.

Some twinge told me I should put a stop to things right then, but she tilted her chin in the air and took an unarmed defensive stance.

I dropped the quarterstaff and dismissed the urge, decades of warrior's instinct overriding any of this new awareness Revan infected me with. I stepped forward and aimed a jab at her stomach.

She deflected me and responded with a kick. I took the kick with my hip in order to catch her leg and flipped her over it.

I should have guessed something was wrong with her by her fighting style. She was too close, too eager to slip under my guard and put herself at risk. Too wild in her attacks, and too heedless of her defenses.

Too Mandalorian.

I fought her in earnest now, ducking blows and searching for opportunities to put in a shot. She was too wild. I should have seen something was wrong. When a fighter fights the way she did, he's not fighting his opponent. He's fighting himself.

I was busy puzzling out her unpredictable recklessness--thinking when I should have been fighting, when she slipped inside my guard, grabbed my head, jumped half a meter, and head-butted me.

Stars exploded behind my eyes and I brought both forearms down on her shoulders, using my body weight to hold her still. "Enough, princess."

She sagged beneath my weight. I took her hand and examined her scraped and bloodied knuckles. "Go put some kolto on these. And next time, use some shielding. Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

She looked away guiltily. "We can't afford to rest on our laurels. The Sith are still very much a threat."

"Not right now, they aren't." Nevertheless, a few hours later, she showed up at my door again, spoiling for a fight. Or so I thought.

It wasn't combat she was looking for.

"Come on, old man, I know you can make me hurt." She spun the quarterstaff, a dangerous light in her eyes.

I swept her legs. She tumbled to the floor, but used the staff to jab upward and catch me underneath the ribs. She locked her legs around my ankles and forward momentum carried me down to the floor on top of her.

She used that head-butt again to stun me. I'm an old fool for falling for it twice. But that's not the worst thing I'm a fool for.

At the end of things, I'm nothing more than an old warrior. I've seen and fought in more battles than I can count, and each time, the difference between winning and losing is knowing the enemy you're fighting. But I'm only a man, and when she kissed me, the only enemy around was myself. And I'm too good of a warrior to let myself get beaten.

I should have asked myself why a pampered Jedi princess, a sweetheart of the galaxy would want anything to do with a grizzled old brute twice her age.

But I didn't question. Or I should say, I didn't ask the right questions. What man would?

"What do you want from me, Bastila?"

She flipped me over and my head thudded on the plascrete. Her hands were cool on my skin. "Mandalorians aren't known for being stupid. Are you the exception?" 

I'm only a man. I may be a fool, but I'm not stupid.

Ever since throwing my lot in with Revan, or Noura, as she was called back then, I've been thinking about things. Things that I never thought about in all my years of battling and conquering and fighting and killing. Like I told Revan, the time of the clans is over. My people are reduced to mercenaries like me or honorless thugs like that moron Shirruk. I realized, after killing Jagy, that I wanted more. Jagy was a good warrior, and I had to kill him to survive.

His accusation that I sought glory at the expense of my troops seemed ridiculous at first. But it made me think. The days of the clans were full of glory in battle. I remembered that battle well. It won me my first command. Jagy's accusations put a taint on something I remembered with pride. Dropping him in the desert should have put an end to the doubts that crept into my mind like thieves.

When Revan pestered me about it, I told her that I'd been finding my own way in the galaxy since before she was born, and I'd continue to do so after the Star Forge was found. But since the Star Forge, the rules of the galaxy have changed somehow. I've changed.

I tried to treat her gently, like the princess she was. She wouldn't let me. "Don't," she said, scoring her fingernails over my flesh. "Mandalorians break things, they don't treat them like glass."

"What do you want from me?" I asked her again.

She looked up at me. "Make me shatter."

* * *


	6. Nature

Nature

Mission

Mission froze outside of the combat exercise room, her hand hovering over the release pad when she heard footsteps behind her and the swish of an opening door panel.

"Okay, Father. There's an officer's cantina on level 23 that's less crowded."

She didn't want to be noticed by the owner of that voice. Her hand darted down to her waist, where she activated the stealth field generator there. Through the shimmering air around her, she saw Dustil Onasi leave his quarters and look first one way, then the other. "Mission? Are you out here?"

He looked down at the commlink in his hand. "No, Father. I--I thought I saw your Twi'lek friend in the hallway. I must've been mistaken." He ducked back into his room, and Mission breathed a sigh of relief. "Right, fine. See you at 2200."

Dustil's voice faded and Mission turned off her stealth unit to preserve the power cell. She turned back to the combat gym and put her hand up.

"Mission!" 

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Dammit! He was too sneaky by half. "D-dustil," she stammered, turning to face him. He wore the black and silvery gray uniform of Republic Intelligence, decorated with red braid, but in her mind, she saw the gray and black uniform of the Sith.

His short hair swept back from his forehead was a few shades lighter than Carth's, but she could still see her trusted friend in the planes of Dustil's face. But his chin was different than Carth's, and she wondered how much else was different. She trusted Carth. But trusting Carth didn't extend to his son. He'd spent the last five years being raised by the Sith. And in her experience, you didn't grow up in a pit of viper kinraths without being poisonous. 

"Were you going in there?" Dustil asked. "I could use a little training myself."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that Big Z would be happy to put him through his paces. Her head-tails wrapped around her shoulders protectively. "Um, I was actually--" she searched for a plausible excuse. Big Z came to her rescue. "I was looking for some snacks for Zaalbar." She looked up at him. "You know, my _Wookiee _friend."

"I can help you with that," he said, smiling down at her. Apparently, he wasn't afraid of Wookiees.

"I can manage," she said, looking away. 

"Yeah, I bet you can," he said. "But I've got connections. There's an officer's mess two levels up and I've got the key to it."

Reluctantly, she followed him. She told herself it was because her instincts were to get food while the getting was good, no matter where it came from.

They stepped into a turbolift and he reached around her for the panel. He programmed their destination while she tried to edge away from him. He smiled again. "You know, I don't bite," he said. His smile bothered her. It was too--personal. Like he smiled for her alone. It was dreamy and romantic, and part of her wanted nothing more than to believe it was sincere. 

The Sith soldiers in the cantina on Taris smiled at her like that, too. While underneath the cantina tables, they flicked their blaster settings to "stun" just in case she put up a fight about going where she didn't want to go. It took Big Z's presence to make them turn their target scopes onto easier prey.

"No, but that gizka on your chin might," she said peevishly.

His fingers went to the tiny beard he wore. "You don't like my chin-gizka?" He grinned. "But I've got it trained to do tricks."

She folded her arms protectively in front of her. Her head-tails had other ideas. They relaxed from around her shoulders and brushed her upper arms gently. "I don't trust you," she said bluntly.

His eyes darkened. "I don't recall asking for your trust."

"Just so we're on the same screen." The turbolift doors opened with a whoosh. He led her out of the lift and to the right, to a narrow door discreetly fitted into the wall. A swipe of his passcard opened the portal and revealed a small mess, deserted, but loaded with snacks. Her eyes widened. Good ones, too.

"So," he said. "Is this enough to prove to you I mean no harm?"

"Not quite. But it's a start," she conceded.

"So what's she like?" he asked abruptly.

"Who?"

"Revan."

"You mean Noura." Her friend and savior beat herself up over her actions as the Sith Lord enough that Mission felt that calling her by the same name seemed to just rub salt in Revan's already-bleeding wounds.

"She's the Lord of the Sith," he said. "Why don't you call her by name."

"_Was _the Sith Lord," Mission snapped. "Or are you rooting for her to go back to her old ways? Did you really leave the Sith code behind when you left the Sith academy?"

His jaw tightened. "I did. I just choose not to hide from what I used to be. Is that what your terrific leader does? Does she pretend that she's not who she used to be?"

"She isn't who she used to be! She's _changed_." Mission didn't elaborate--she couldn't--wouldn't to this arrogant son of a Sith. Noura was her friend, and if she was going through a bad patch, it was nobody else's business.

Mission grabbed handfuls of snacks and stuffed them into the many pockets of her utility vest. "Thanks for the snacks," she said coldly. "Glad to see you can be useful, at least." She stomped out of the mess and practically ran for the lift.

Zaalbar was performing maintenance work on the shields, along with Jolee.

"Now listen, you big hairball," the old man was saying. "If you bypass the servo-connectors, the shield systems won't be dependent on the maintenance systems!"

The wookiee brandished a hydro-spanner [Don't tell _me _how to tinker, Hairless One].

Mission clambered up the scaffolding to join them. "Hey guys," she said, digging in her pockets and pulling out the currency with which she bought and sold her wookiee friend's loyalties. "Protein snacks." She tossed a handful to Zaalbar, then handed one to Jolee.

"Someone chase you up here, little girl?" Jolee asked. 

"No," she said, perhaps too quickly.

Zaalbar tore into the packaged snacks and munched with wookiee enthusiasm. She stole a glance towards the hangar bay door. It stayed closed, to her relief. She lowered her voice to a murmur in the cavernous room. "Jolee, what do you know about the Sith? On a--personal level, I mean."

"Well, they like to shoot at me," the old man said with a smile. "I'll tell you what I told Revan. The galaxy swings both ways. For every evil empire that rises, the balance will swing back towards the light eventually. Same with the other direction."

Mission wrinkled her nose. "Not what I was looking for. What I want to know is if you think somebody who used to be a Sith can be trusted."

Jolee raised his eyebrows. "I thought you trusted Revan."

"Of course I do!" She bit her lip. "But she used to be a Jedi first, before she was a Sith, and she proved herself after. Besides, Revan isn't the one I'm talking about."

"Then who--_ohh_, I see." Jolee began to laugh.

"I'm so glad you find amusement at my expense."

"I'll stop laughing when you start asking the right questions. Like, is it really Dustil Onasi that you don't trust."

Mission blushed azure. "Think I'll go find Canderous," she muttered. The Mandalorian wasn't nearly as perceptive as the cantankerous old Jedi.


	7. Instinct

Instinct

Bastila

If my fall to the dark side has taught me anything, it is that I must at least be honest with myself. I sought out the scarred Mandalorian brute specifically because I expected little in the way of mercy or gentleness from him.

It is inevitable that galactic saviors, when presented with a galaxy that no longer requires rescue, will have outlived their usefulness.

I sensed an emptiness in Canderous that mirrored my own. After the abortive meditation with Revan, when I realized that my darkness poisoned her, I began to truly face what I had done under Malak's influence, and what inside me was changed forever.

I suppose I always believed that I had no darkness in me. I was pure, I was untainted, raised by the Jedi in their most sacred and safe places, free of dark influences, and well-versed in avoiding their dangers. It was this that made my fall so easy. After the Star Forge, I returned, battered, bruised, Revan and I two broken droids barely keeping each other upright, and changed.

I believed then that Malak had somehow planted some darkness within me, put it there like an alien seed to grow and blossom and turn my spirit to its ways. It was when the Supreme Chancellor pinned the Cross of Honor on my chest that I realized the darkness in me was no alien seed, that I was no hapless host for a parasitic entity. The darkness was my own, and my shame.

But I have ever been talented at keeping the appearance of serenity, although after the honor ceremony, the work I put into it increased tenfold. I began to make deals with my darkness. I would feed it with harmless prey, let it feast on dark things in the dark corners of private aloneness, on food that would keep it from growing too big to manage. I would allow it to consume no one but myself.

Canderous seemed the logical choice. He wore darkness like battle armor. My own darkness gloried in battle, and for a few brief moments, it was pacified by the exertion and pain of physical combat.

I should have realized that feeding that kind of hunger cannot sate it, but only make it grow. Bloodlust is a mutable thing.

A lifetime of Jedi training has prevented me from being well-versed in the ways of men, but there are things a woman knows by instinct.

* * *


	8. His Father's Son

His Father's Son

Carth

The only bright point about the whole tour of victory nonsense was that Dustil had caught up with us at Kashyyyk. He was attached to an intelligence unit whose task it was to clean up the remnants of the Sith Academy, and had taken his furlough to travel with us to Coruscant. A few drinks at the _Stella Arcos's _cantina wouldn't replace all the years we lost, but they allowed me to start to get to know the man my son had become, and I found that he was becoming a good friend. The highest honor any parent can receive from a child. It was easier than I thought for me to confide in him my feelings for Revan, and how they had come about.

"She never feared to shake up the status quo. She kept me off-balance," I said to him.

Dustil smiled. "Serena was like that." His face clouded. "She was full of crazy ideas. Most of them worked. Except for the last one. She wanted to explore the Sith. She thought they couldn't be all bad--that there had to be something that appealed to people that was redeeming about them."

A month ago, I would have cut my own tongue out for saying what I was about to say, but now, after all that happened on the Star Forge, to me, to Revan, to the galaxy, some of my attitudes have changed. "There's some good in everything," I said. "I guess with the Sith, though, the price to find it is too high."

He nodded. "They took a law of nature and drew it out to an unnatural conclusion. I almost went down with them." 

Seeing my son brood was like looking into a time-warped mirror. "But you stopped. You listened, and you turned back. That's something to be proud of." Even bleary-eyed with drink, I could still marvel at the boy's perception, and felt a swell of pride nearly topple me off the stool. "I'm so proud of you, Dustil."

He offered me a wry smile. "I'm my father's son." 

In more ways than one, I thought. Maybe someday, I'll tell him a little about the dark places I went after his mother died, when I believed both of them were gone forever. Where I'd still be if it weren't for Noura. Revan. "You're a good man, Dustil," I said.

"Am I? Mission doesn't seem to think so."

"Mission?" Who'd never wavered in her faith in Revan, even when I struggled with trying to reconcile the woman I knew--the woman I was falling in love with--and the Dark Lord of the Sith. "What did she say?"

"She thinks I'd like for Revan to turn back to the Dark Side. Thinks I'm still a Sith."

"That's crazy," I said. "She's probably in a mood."

"It's a bad one," Dustil said gloomily. "She seems to think there's something wrong with me not denying I used to be a Sith."

"You _weren't _a Sith," I said hotly. "You were fooled. Misled."

His smile was bitter. "I was old enough to know better. You give me more credit than I deserve. And less. If you knew--" He turned back to his drink. "So why isn't she here? Revan, I mean. I never got the chance to thank her for turning me around." He shook his head. "Imagine. Darth Revan turned me off the Sith. Do you know, I even ran into Master--I mean, Padawan Yuthura Ban? Revan turned her back to the light, too."

Hearing this didn't surprise me. But it did worry me. "She's turned so many of us away from destructive paths. But she can't seem to save herself," I said, more to myself than him.

"How so?"

I looked at my son, and the bleak despair must have shone in my eyes. "Do you know, she told me she loved me on Rakata?"

Dustil smiled. "Go, Dad."

My own smile was all too brief. "Mission told us to get a room. We laughed then. But now, well, she shuts me out. She shuts all of us out. She meditates and does these Jedi exercises, and the Jedi Council hovers around her like a bunch of old aunts, keeping her away from the rest of us."

"Dad," Dustil said gently. "It's no secret that the Jedi can't love."

I am ashamed to say I snapped at my son. "Kath crap! She loves me, and I love her. Hasn't the Council done enough to her?"

"Maybe they're trying to save her, too, in their own way."

"Well it isn't working!"

Dustil pinned me with a hard look, his young eyes turning steely. I saw then, that he is his father's son. Darkness waits in him, too. "Then I guess you ought to find a way that works, huh?"

* * *


	9. Drastic Measures

Drastic Measures

Revan

When I returned to the crew quarters on the Hawk, I couldn't look at Carth. I made the decision then and there that it was time to end the cycle. The darkness in me was reaching out to the outside. The need to hurt terrified me, and if I was somehow influencing others, innocents like Mission could only suffer. My days of hurting innocents were over once and for all. If I had to take extreme measures to do it, then so be it.

In the middle of the night, I rose from my bunk. I leaned down, close to Carth's sleeping form, breathing in the scent of hide, blaster oil, and that which was indefinably Carth, one last time. _ I love you_, I thought. _But I won't drag you down with me_. 

Then I left my own ship like a thief. As I watched the Stella Arcos' hulking shadow recede in the viewport of my stolen craft, I repeated a litany over and over again. _ I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_.


	10. Stress Fracture

A/N: Thanks to Aroseb and Nima Onasi for reviewing my first attempt at Star Wars fic!

Stress-Fracture

Carth

As we approached Coruscant, it seemed time for us to fracture. Revan finally had enough. In the middle of the night shift, I woke up because I realized I couldn't hear her whimpers from across the crew quarters. She was gone.

So was a long-range transport shuttle from the _Stella Arcos_, the flagship housing the Hawk and the hundreds of personnel that seemed to be required for a victory tour to the capital.

I reached for the alarm that would alert Admiral Dodonna, and then stopped. Dustil's words came back to me. The Council, the Republic--they'd had their chances with Revan. I was done with being a good little soldier. I was done with following their orders, and I was done with waiting.

Instead, I thumbed in Dustil's personal comm-code. "I'm going to go get you a stepmother, Dustil. Wanna come?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he said.

I threw one boot at Canderous, in the other bunk across from me, and the other at Zaalbar. The Wookiee groaned in protest and Canderous shot me a look that, from a Jedi, would have charred me to a cinder. Lucky me, he's no Jedi. "Wake up, grunts. We've got a problem that needs solving."

Zaalbar half-rose, shaking his furry fist at me. [This better be good, human].

Canderous just glared at me and shook the sleep from his head. "Does it involve fighting somebody outside? Because if it doesn't, I'm fighting you."

"Beat the bantha crap out of me later. Revan's gone."

A purpose I hadn't felt since the Star Forge gripped me. Determination washed through my veins and gave speed to my feet as I rounded up our motley crew. "Revan's gone." I didn't waste words. "I'm going to get her. Anybody who doesn't want to tag along can get the hell off the Hawk right now."

Bastila protested. "Carth, we must alert the Council! They can find--"

"Screw the Council," I said. "They had their chance and they fucked it up."

"How--"

"You got a problem with it, then get your Jedi ass off my ship." A cold brutality filled me, and I wondered if this was how a Sith commander felt. If so, I could see the attraction in it. Being a bastard might not win you friends, but it got things done. Fast.

To my surprise, Bastila simply shook her head. "You'll need me to find her."

"I thought your bond was broken?" Mission said.

"The bond forged between us by the Council is broken, yes, but--" she hesitated, looking at the floor, "there are other bonds that--that need to be honored." She looked back up into my eyes and her gaze was clear. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

"About damn time you got off your ass, boy," Jolee stumped into the room. "Juhani's downloading the hyperdrive signature of that shuttle as we speak."

"I thought you might need a little help with piloting." Dustil's voice floated up from the gangplank.

"Oh great. Another kid," Jolee grumbled. "Should we requisition some diapers before we leave?"

Bastila stepped towards him and opened her mouth. She stuttered, the words foreign to her, but spoken nonetheless. "You are a cranky old--_coot_."

Canderous' gravelly laugh rang out. After a moment, Jolee smiled. "Let's go find ourselves a Sith Lord."

We hadn't made our first jump to hyperspace before a galaxy-wide interdiction on the Ebon Hawk appeared on the holonets. "Mission, Zaalbar," I said through the ship's comm system. "Make yourselves useful and figure out a way to cover our tracks."

Dustil looked at me from the co-pilot's chair. "I'll go help."

He passed Jolee in the corridor. The old man dropped into Dustil's vacated seat. "You know you're a mad fool, right?"

My fingers flew over the controls as I plotted a weaving course that would follow Revan's but hopefully knock our pursuers for a loop. The jumps were random and more than a little dangerous, but I'd flown in worse. "Yeah," I said. "So if you came up here to tell me that, it's old news."

"Simmer down, sonny. I came to tell you that a mad fool's probably the only one who can save her."

The star field in front of us stretched and warped as we slid into hyperspace. "Thanks for your support," I said dryly.


	11. Close Quarters

Close Quarters

Mission

She and Big Z met in the swoop hangar on Carth's orders. The Wookiee warbled instructions to her. [We have to mask our hyperdrive signature or risk attracting the attention of every Republic ship in the lanes.]

Mission looked at the pile of parts on the workbench and threw up her hands. "If I had more parts. Or more time."

[We can scavenge some basic stuff from the extra droid upgrades.]

She sighed. "That'll get us a little further. But we just don't have enough time. I can only work so fast. We'll need at least," she looked at the ceiling as she did some quick calculations in her head. Her head-tails floated upward to follow her unfocused gaze. "At least two dozen small shielding reflecters to bounce the energy sig off of." She threw up her hands again. "We can't make that many in three days, much less three hours. What does Carth think I am, another Jedi?"

"Or you can cut your work in half and use a different approach," came a voice from the doorway. She whirled.

Dustil Onasi leaned against one side of the doorway leading into the corridor, a half-smirk on his face. Already, she felt her blood get hot. He'd snuck up on her again! And he was arrogant, and rude, listening in on other people's conversations, and she still didn't trust him, and--

[We're always open for a better idea.] Wookiee warble interrupted her train of thought. She glared at Big Z, but his attention was focused on Dustil.

He sauntered towards the workbench. "Let's see what you've got," he said, stroking the ridiculous little beard on his chin. That--chin-gizka. He only wore it to make himself look older, she thought crossly. Stupid humans and their hair! Her head-tails streamed out behind her, waving agitatedly.

"Is this all you've got?" he asked.

"We've got plenty of mines," she said acidly. "And grenades. Let me go get one for you. It's missing its pin, but I promise it won't go off if you hold it really tight." _I can put it down your pants if you like_.

He turned to look at her and raised one eyebrow. "Got any gas mines in that stash of lethal ordnance?"

"As a matter of fact, we do," she said. "If that's your preference."

He offered her a small, humorless smile. "Bring them to me," he commanded. "And if you're a good girl, I might tell you what I'm going to do with them."

"Set them off in our beds while we sleep, no doubt."

He smacked his hand on the workbench. The parts on it jumped and clattered. "Okay, that's enough! I came down here to help you--to help my father, and you're not only keeping me from doing that, you're acting like a rude child to boot!"

"I'm not a child!" she said automatically, her standard response to comments on her youth suddenly sounding rather juvenile. 

[Mission, your temper could use a little restraint.] 

Zaalbar's warning woof made her see red. Imagine! Getting anger management advice from a _Wookiee_! "I'm going to get those grenades and mines," she said, seething. "Maybe I'll throw myself on one, too." She stormed out of the hangar bay, head-tails flying.

* * *


	12. Lessons

Lessons

Dustil

Zaalbar looked down at Dustil. He grinned up at the Wookiee. "Was it something I said?"

Zaalbar barked a laugh. [She'll calm down soon. Revan's flight bothers her. She cares for Revan very much.]

"So does my father." Dustil sobered and began selecting the parts he needed from the pile on the workbench.

[In my tribe, young women choose an elder mentor, so that the difficulties of maturity are shared between the girl, her mother, and a mentor-mother. Mission's life has been absent of mentor-mothers, until Revan came along.]

"What was Revan like, back then?" Dustil asked, carefully keeping his tone casual.

[I owe my life-debt to her,] Zaalbar said. [She saved me from Gamorrean slavers. She took both of us in after I swore my life-debt to her, even though she could have sent Mission away. I shudder to think what would have happened to Mission alone in the Undercity. Her scoundrel's luck is uncanny, but it would have run out sooner or later.]

Dustil nodded. Mission's behavior towards him bothered him. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. In truth, she fascinated him. Back at the academy, humans and other species were segregated after the initial training. They re-segregated in advanced training, after the weak had been weeded out or eliminated. Mission, by all accounts, should have never survived as long as she did. A parentless runt who, unlike him, hadn't attracted the attention of a Sith captain in a refugee camp. Captain Acala had taken him from the wreckage of Telos and brought him to Admiral Karath. He had been so relieved after the terror of Telos to see a face familiar from some of the holos his mother kept with his father's things. Admiral Karath himself had sponsored his audience with the Sith Academy masters when he and Serena decided to apply. 

A stab of regret went through him at the thought of how Master Uthar had "eliminated" Serena, in order to advance his own progress. When he admitted it to himself, there was a cold logic in it. But why couldn't they have simply sent her away?

Because that's not our--I mean, the _Sith _way, he answered himself. _By the ghost of Ajunta Pall_, he thought, suddenly furious, _I'll never be free of them, will I?_ _Even as a Republic soldier, working for all the things the Sith hate, I'm still thinking like one of them. Because it's my job_.

After Revan and his father had intervened in his life at the Academy on Korriban, he and the few friends he'd managed to convince--and didn't have to kill to keep silent--had stowed away on a big Czerka freighter. They made their way first to Tatooine, where they hunted desert wraids, raced swoops, and cheated at pazaak until they pooled enough credits to book passage to Manaan.

Roland Wann had not believed them at first, when they told him they were defectors from the Sith academy, and wanted refuge with the Republic. He put them in interrogation cells. At first, Dustil believed that the Republic was no better than the Sith, that his father was a fool for believing all their lies, and that they should go back to Dreshdae where they could at least side with the winning team. He said as much to the interrogator, shouting out defiantly that, unlike his father, he wouldn't swallow Republic lies. "I came here because I believed him when he said the Republic were the good guys!"

Roland Wann happened to hear this. "Who's your father, son?"

"Why should I tell you?"

The interrogator flipped a switch and chemicals flooded his bloodstream. The urge to trust Roland, his kind eyes, his troubled expression, as if he knew what he did was wrong, regretted it, and would stop if only Dustil would just help him. "Carth Onasi is my father," I said quietly. "He was a hero of the Mandalorian wars. He believes in the Republic."

At the Sith Academy, his status as a reluctant refugee from Telos meant that his reputation suffered an automatic hit in any official Sith capacity. No matter how good a student he was, how completely he embraced their ways, he was still the child of the enemy. But on Manaan, his surname abruptly became an asset.

They were taken from the interro-cages and immediately housed in well-appointed Republic quarters. Suddenly, they went from being POWs to honored guests. Admiral K'tek himself, leader of Republic Intelligence, came to question them. The admiral offered him a commission in Republic Intelligence, at the rank of Lieutenant. He accepted in the belief that he could honor his father and follow in his footsteps. But intelligence officers are not heroes. Their work is done in shadow. The Sith wanted to forge him into a weapon of cunning and deadly deceit. The Republic finished the job.

He shook his head abruptly and continued to tinker. The choices he'd made...he'd have to live with them. He only wished he would have pushed back when K'tek told him to keep away from Jedi. Revan and Juhani, the Cathar who accompanied his father on Korriban, intrigued him, as did the dark Jedi who came to the academy. _One day_, he thought, _I will be like them_.

[I would be more help if I knew what you were trying to do.] The Wookiee's gentle bark interrupted his thoughts.

He blinked. "Oh, yeah. Sorry about that." He held up the item he'd fashioned together half-consciously. "We just need some gas from those gas grenades and mines in here, and we'll be done."

[Done with what?]

He smiled. "It's a lot of work to mask a hyperdrive signature. You have to bounce it around so much before it gets garbled, and even then, a smart tracker can pick up an intentionally-garbled drive sig. And a Corellian freighter's a Corellian freighter, no matter what the hyperdrive looks like. Unless you change its mass."

[We have no cargo to jettison.]

"If you can't make it lighter, then make it heavier." Dustil grinned. "It's something my friends and I came up with in Academy dogfight training. The Republic would say it was cheating, but they aren't the Sith." He remembered Master Yuthura's conversation, the one that triggered the idea in the first place. He'd asked her about her tattoos, and wanted to know when he could get his.

"You have not been blooded enough, young learner," she said, her aura of faint, mocking amusement enveloping him. "The tattoos are menacing, are they not?" At his nod, she continued. "But they are simply tribal markings without the strength, skill, and passion of the wearer behind them. You will know when you have earned your tattoos, young Onasi."

He thought about her words, about appearances, and natural order. The idea came to him and he used his gravitational disruptors in the dogfight training exercises above the planet to much success.

And he realized that as long as he felt he had to ask for the tattoos, he wouldn't be ready for them. So he took them. But he did so subtly. He conscripted a medical droid to ink markings on his back, rather than on his forehead, and made sure to keep them well-hidden from the other students. He even wore thermal Republic-issues around the locker rooms to keep them hidden from his Republic associates. Somehow, he even managed to wipe the memory of them from the doctors who examined him periodically.

There were four tattoos across his upper back, and each represented a lesson learned. They were his lessons, though, and nobody else's. Not even his father's. They weren't the kind of lessons you shared.

He explained to Zaalbar how the junkball-looking objects could be used in the shielding to project a gravitational field greater than that of the ship's actual mass. "It's just an illusion, but we only need to fool them long enough to glance over us. If they think we're a Bothan cruiser or a Mon Calamari transport, they'll pass right over us without a second glance."

[You have your father's tactical mind.]

Dustil allowed himself a faint smile. "Thanks."

* * *


	13. Demons

Demons

Mission

She left the hangar and activated her stealth emitter. Ever since leaving Dantooine, she and Juhani would practice sneaking around the ship. Canderous would try to find them and they would try to elude him in silly cat-and-mouse games that nevertheless gave them all good practice. It became a habit for her to sneak around the ship as they came closer to the Star Forge. After the capture on the Leviathan, she didn't ever want to be caught flat-footed again.

She nearly collided with the pair in the cargo hold and when it registered what she was looking at, she really wished she'd come stomping into the bay like a herd of rampaging banthas.

A couple stood in the shadows, very close. She recognized Canderous's blocky, massive silhouette. He had his arms around a woman and they were--oh! _Ew, ew, ew_. She closed her eyes tight. Canderous kissing someone was weirder than a--than a _bald Wookiee_.

Against her will, she opened one eye. She had to know who--

Her sharply indrawn breath echoed in the room, giving her away.

The couple sprang apart. Bastila stepped into a shaft of dim light and looked around.

Mission ran on silent feet, taking refuge in a mad flight to the medical bay. Her stealth generator timed out halfway there and her footsteps suddenly echoed on the deck plates.

"Whoa, little girl. Seems like every time I see you these days, someone's chasing you."

"I don't have time to explain, old man, but if anyone asks, I've been here for half an hour, helping you put together medpacs."

Jolee narrowed his eyes. "Just what have you been up to, young lady?"

"Seeing something I thought I'd never see in a million years." She made a face. "I'm going to need new eyeballs. Just please--cover for me. I swear I haven't been up to anything really bad. I just saw something I wasn't supposed to."

"Well, what did you see?"

She pressed her lips together in a tight line. "You weren't supposed to see it, either." She heard footsteps outside in the hallway. "Please," she begged.

"All right, all right," Jolee said irritably, and muttered something about damn kids.

Bastila appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Mission," she said carefully. "Please come with me."

Mission looked with mute appeal at Jolee. The old man stepped around the med-bay. "Now hold on. I finally got this silly girl to put together a proper medpac. I need her here to help me."

"But--"

"It hasn't been an easy task for this old man to get her to do it right." He made a gesture with his hand. "Believe me."

Bastila frowned, then her eyes clouded. "I--oh, very well, old man."

"You can get someone else to help you with whatever you need."

"It must have been someone else, I suppose."

Bastila left and Mission sighed with relief. Jolee pinned her with a gimlet glare. "Just what aren't you telling me?"

She shook her head. "I just--I can't talk about it right now." She shuddered, remembering what she'd seen. The way Bastila had been, it looked more like she was trying to devour Canderous rather than kiss him. 

She didn't consider herself really squeamish. Gadon Thek had run a decent gang, but they were still a swoop gang, not an orphanage. Most of her education came from walking in on somebody in a storage room somewhere while looking for something to eat or some place to crash for a few hours. But the laughing, playful, casual encounters of the Beks didn't have that aura of--of.

__

The word you're looking for is darkness, her inner voice supplied.

"Fine, fine, play tricks on the old man. Nobody listens to the old and wise."

She cut him off in mid-rant. "Listen, Jolee. Do you think--I mean, could Bastila still be, um," she lowered her voice, "_dark_?"

Jolee raised his eyebrows. He stroked his graying beard thoughtfully. "People don't flip like switches," he said. "They aren't just light or dark. Both states exist _in potentia _in each of us."

"Yeah, but do you think Bastila's dark is, um, a little more than just potential still?"

"Kiddo, every Jedi fights with his own darkness every day. Bastila's no different."

Mission nibbled on her bottom lip. "But how do you know if the darkness is winning?"

"You know," the old man said. "And if you don't do something about it, that's where your friends come in." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Listen. People can have demons without falling to the Dark Side. It makes the battle against darkness harder, but like I said, that's where your friends come in. Now get out of here and leave an old man to his ruminations."

She made her way to the cargo hold, now blessedly deserted. Her earlier comment to Dustil about falling on a grenade returned and now seemed an even more attractive option. She dug through the ordnance locker and pulled out all the gas mines and gas grenades she could find. She pulled some cryoban grenades out, too, and some adhesives, just in case they ran out of glue.

As she entered the swoop hangar, she saw Dustil and Big Z working companionably. 

"Fire in the hole," she said.

"Great," Dustil said, smiling at her.

Big Z told her about Dustil's idea. Dustil added. "Changing our gravity sig will only require a dozen, maybe fourteen of these. And T3 can put them where they need to go. All we have to do is build 'em."

His plan had merit. He rivaled Big Z with his ability to tinker, and surpassed her. She lost herself in building the units, and forgot about her animosity towards him.

"What was Taris like?" he asked after a stretch of companionable silence.

Mission reached for a hydro-spanner. "Not great for a non-human. But I did all right. Big Z and I, we went where we wanted in the Lower City. Even in the Undercity, nobody could touch us.

[Almost nobody,] Big Z interjected.

"Those Gamorreans were chuba-faces," she said.

"Gammoreans?" Dustil asked. "Are those the same ones that Revan killed to free Zaalbar?"

"I helped," she said crossly. "I'm pretty good with a blaster."

"No doubt. But weren't you afraid of her?" he asked. "Revan, I mean."

Mission shrugged. "She wasn't Revan back then. She was just Noura Den Hades. Nobody special. She was hiding from the Sith, same as the rest of us. She and Carth--"

"My father was with you then?"

She nodded.

"Tell me about him," Dustil said, a tremor in his voice. "Please?"

She stopped to look at Dustil. She was torn between painting a picture of his father that the young man could be proud of...and the truth.

She tried to think about what Revan would do. Revan wouldn't mince words. Revan treated her like an adult. "The galaxy doesn't coddle children. That's a parent's job," she'd said.

"The man your father was on Korriban...well, he wasn't the same man I met on Taris."

Dustil's face went a few shades paler than it had been. "What--what kind of man was he?"

She leaned back. "Don't get your skivvies in a wad. He wasn't a menace or anything. He was just...he was a man without a future." She remembered the Carth she first met in the Undercity of Taris. "There was an Undercity gang who hung around the only lift down to the Undercity settlement. When up-worlders would come down--they did it for sport, sometimes--the gang would rough them up for credits or supplies. They tried to hit Revan and Carth up when they first left the lift. Revan had this vibroblade--but it was your father that really blew my mind. He stepped in the middle of five of them--and these guys were no slouches at combat." She pantomimed actions to go with her story.

"So Carth steps right into the middle of this gang and takes his blaster like this--" she moved her hand in an upward motion. "And shoves it in the biggest one's face and says, 'You can take your credits from the business end of this, pal.' Then Revan steps up and tells them not to mess with her and Carth--and then she and Carth turn around and give them like, twenty credits, when they only bullied for like, five."

"That actually sounds like my dad. He's always been generous. And brave."

"He also jumped into the middle of three Rakghouls and a party of Sith patrollers."

Dustil's face went even paler, if that was possible. "That's--"

"Suicidal?" she supplied. "Your dad fought with everything he had, because he had nothing more to lose. When he learned that you were still alive, and on Korriban, he begged Noura to go to Korriban as soon as we could. And she did." Mission looked at him. "Which is why I'm so stymied as to why you think she's ready to go join the Sith again."

"You weren't there with her at the Academy. You didn't see how...easily she learned the lessons the Sith teach."

"Of course. She'd learned them before, she just didn't remember it yet. Besides, you weren't there with her on Tatooine when she rescued my no-good brother from the Tusken Raiders, or when she ended a blood feud between two families on Dantooine."

"She'd have to be pretty special to replace my mom in Father's affections," he said in a faint, resigned voice.

Suddenly, Mission understood at least part of Dustil's suspicions of Revan. "I don't think she's replaced your mother at all. It's just--he's a different man now." Her eyes searched his. "When I met your dad, he was a dead man. He just hadn't stopped walking around yet." She turned her attention back to the unit she was working on. "Noura brought him back to life." She shook her head, "Man, it sounds so sappy when I tell it like that, doesn't it? All romantic and junk."

Dustil laughed. "A little. Okay, now we need the grenades."

They stopped talking as they dismantled the grenade housings and enshelled the gas in the units. "Now, we'll take that carbonite and put it in the second chamber of the unit, and reconfigure the detonators to mix the chamber contents at the right time. The reaction will create an energy field that mimics heavy gravity properties. They'll think they're looking at something the size of a Mon Calamari cruiser."

She and Dustil worked carefully and silently. Big Z couldn't help with the delicate, tiny work, but he spent his time filling the secondary unit chambers with carbonite.

Big Z also programmed T3 to install the field units when they came out of their current hyperspace jump.

Focus on the intricate work in front of her put her in a relaxed state, one where she wasn't so aware of being aware of him right next to her. Only the occasional time when their fingers touched did she remember he was...a he, and right there next to her.

Dustil straightened, and cricked his neck. She leaned back as well, blinking to put her vision back into focus. "Ouch!" A knot formed in her shoulder.

"Here," he said. He put his hands on her shoulders and dug his fingers into her muscles. She tensed. "Relax," he said. "This is a medical technique I learned on Manaan. Did you know the Selkath are skilled at therapeutic massage, in spite of their flippers?"

The line sounded suspiciously like, well, a line. She turned around and glanced up at him. Her head-tails folded themselves in a skeptical knot around her shoulders. "You don't say," she said flatly.

He smiled the crooked smile that reminded her of Carth, and winked at her. "You never told me what took you so long getting the grenades."

The scene she'd walked in on in the cargo hold returned to her and she shivered. "Oh, that." She turned around again and hugged the back of the chair, tucking one leg under her. "Listen, have you ever, um, seen something you knew your life would have been so much better if you'd missed?"

He thought for a minute, his brow wrinkled in concentration, then nodded. "Master Uthar, back at the academy. There were these caves, and we thought only the students knew of them. There were hot springs in them, and whenever the teachers put us through a particularly brutal dueling session, we'd sneak off to the hot springs for some relief." He shook his head. "I should have known the students didn't have any secrets from the masters. Serena and I went there late one night for--" he stopped abruptly and colored.

"Yeah, yeah, go on," she said impatiently. What did she care if he had a girlfriend or not?

"Uh, anyway, we just got into the caves when we saw Masters Uthar and Yuthura umm, getting out." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "You have to understand, Master Yuthura was an especially attractive woman--you know she's a Twi'lek, right--" at her nod, he continued, "So she wasn't a bad sight to see, but Master Uthar--well, you know, the Dark Side changes you. It makes you--your body, when you use it a lot, it starts to show. Physically. Yuthura had been a beautiful woman, but Master Uthar never was a prize, and he'd embraced the dark side for a long time. It was--_euww_. That's all. Euww."

"And that wasn't enough to convince you the Sith were evil?"

He smiled humorlessly, "I didn't realize it was the Dark Side that did that to you. I thought it was Korriban. And since I planned to get off that stinkhole as soon as I graduated the academy, I wasn't worried." He cracked his knuckles. "Your turn. So what did you see?"

She shook her head. "I can't really describe what was so wrong about it, but, well, there are some things about my friends I didn't ever want to know. And I'm afraid they're going to want to talk about it. To _explain _it, as if I'm some kid without a basic education. And I can't tell them to lay off me, because that will just confirm to them that it was me that walked in on them. But if I don't say something fast enough, they're gonna start blabbing some bantha poodoo about how adults have adult needs or something lame and stupid and about ten years too late that I just _don't want to hear_," she finished stonily.

Dustil snapped parts into his last unit then set it down. "There. That ought to do it. You want to avoid them, right?"

She nodded vigorously, head-tails whipping up and down.

"Can you handle being a coward?" he asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

Her head-tails waved warily. "I think so, yeah."

"Then stick with me."

"How's that being cowardly?"

"They're going to want to have their talk with you alone, right? So don't let 'em catch you alone."

He had a point. A brutal one, but a point nonetheless. _I have to avoid my FUBAR-ed friends,_ she borrowed the term from something she heard Carth say back on Taris, while Noura was swoop racing for the Beks. _And the only one who'll help me is poster-boy for the Sith_. Great.

* * *


	14. Status Quo

Status Quo

Canderous

It was inevitable we'd be found out, especially in the close quarters of the Ebon Hawk. I tried to be the voice of reason. "You were the one who wanted things discreet," I said to her when she slithered into my bunk in the darkness. 

She put her arms around me. "I'm wearing a stealth generator."

So that was what dug into my hip. She wasn't wearing anything else besides the stealth field. "Those things only hide so much, you know." With what I had discovered about her in the last few days, there wasn't a stealth field in the universe that would keep things discreet when she was wound up enough. Like a supernova, my Jedi princess.

"It's a good thing nobody else was in here," I said, some time later, stroking her bare arm as sweat cooled on her skin.

She sat up and pulled on her shift. I leaned back and put my hands behind my head. As much as I didn't trust her motivations for seeking me out, I was grateful for the distraction. Too many days without battle made me edgy. Besides, she was a beautiful woman, and I am a shameless opportunist.

Of course, this crazy quest did its part to hold my attention. But it had its drawbacks, as well. Ships are small places, and when the pilot gets lovesick, it can't help but spread. I was starting to think things about Bastila that I had no right to think. And starting to think things about myself that I didn't like.

The cargo hold set me off in ways I didn't expect. Bastila's confusion over whether or not someone had seen us, and if so, who it could have been cemented the instinct that told me to be on guard. That all her Force talents couldn't figure out that the likely culprit was Mission, sneaking around the ship as she was wont to do, spoke volumes.

What was worst about it, though, was that I didn't trust Bastila to be able to talk to the kid. The fact that I recognized a need to talk to her at all makes me want to swallow the business end of a blaster, but I don't know anybody who'd be willing to pull the trigger.

I stretched out a hand and stopped her as she was about to get up off the bunk. "The Jedi Council will want to see you when the Republic catches up to us."

She nodded.

"What will you do?"

"Whatever the Council decrees. They hold my fate in their hands."

"Not all of it," I said. "To hear the old man tell it, you can refuse their decisions at any time."

She froze. "That would mean...leaving the Order. I could never do that."

"The Council's not infallible." I don't know why I felt the need to argue with her.

"The Council acts with the Force," she said stiffly.

I don't know what I was afraid of. Or what outcome I had in mind. One thing a warrior should never do is go into battle without an objective. That was exactly what I did there in the dark with her. Maybe I did, come to think of it. I don't claim to know or understand the ways of the Jedi, but the thing that bothers me most is that most of the knights accept the edicts of that damn council of theirs without question. Maybe it was the way they treated Revan, wiping her mind and manipulating her into finding the Star Forge that she'd already found--but the way Bastila seemed resigned to surrender her fate without a fight went against every instinct I had. In my youth, I challenged Mandalore himself once or twice. We settled the matter in combat, where my point was made with fist and blade, and acknowledged, whether I won or lost. "You're not going to just let them push you where they want you," I said.

"I am...damaged. If they see fit to assist me in my journey back from the Dark Side, I must abide by whatever rules they set for me."

__

By Mandalore's helm, I thought incredulously. "Damaged?" I said. 

She looked at the floor. "I'm tainted now." Without looking at me, she lifted her pale arms to her hair and moved the heavy mass to one side. I put my fingers up to her nape, where I could feel the two parallel scars there. I had felt them before, when she came to me that first time. When Malak tortured her, she threw her head back so hard that she broke her own neck. The scars came from the droids that re-knit her bones. 

I traced the scars with my fingers, and trailed them down to another set, beneath her ribs. "There's no shame in the scars of battle," I said quietly.

She shifted away from me. "I thought you understood. I didn't get these in battle." She put her small, delicate hand over my rough one. "I gave them to myself."

The protective urge is relatively alien to one such as I. I felt it in my youth, the need to protect my clan. The Republic would have people believe otherwise, but Mandalorians are very protective of those who merit protection--our women when they are breeding, our children until they are trained. It deserted me for many years after the war, having no other clan members to protect, but it resurfaced with Mission and Revan, of all people. Now it reared its ugly head again, more ferocious than ever before.

"What I did was not battle. It was slaughter. The slaughter of those weaker than I was. Unjustified waste. Needless brutality." She bowed her head. "I can never pay enough for what I've done."

I began to suspect why she had first sought me out. When she couldn't punish herself any harder, she found someone who would. I sat up. "Bastila," I said. The man I used to be saw nothing wrong with the situation, even respected her for choosing the best man for the job. The man I was becoming--damn Revan for the thousandth time--refused to accept the status quo. "We--"

The ship suddenly shuddered, and proximity alarms rang out an earsplitting interruption to whatever I was going to say. Dustil Onasi's voice echoed over the comm system. "Enemy in range! Two Star Forge Capital Ships for the main course, and a side order of snub fighters, to go."

Bastila rose. "I must go."

"No kidding." Whatever still hung between us would have to wait. "Go do your Jedi magic." I was already half-dressed, reaching for the headgear that gave me a targeting advantage. "This is Canderous," I said into my commlink. "I'll be partying on the aft portside gun turrets. Mission, get your skinny blue ass down here and man starboard with me."

"That's a negative, Ordo," Dustil's voice came back over the comm. "I need her on nav."

"Stupid kid," I muttered.

I thought Bastila would have assumed her Jedi meditation pose by now, but she was pulling on stabilizer gauntlets. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Manning a gun turret," she said calmly.

That was not the answer I expected to hear. "What about your Battle Meditation?"

Fear filled her eyes. "I--it wouldn't be right. The Council--"

That damn Council again. "Get your Jedi ass on the floor and start doing whatever it is you do that makes us fight better," I said harshly. She was like a raw recruit before her first battle, and I was only now truly becoming aware of how badly the damage to her faculties the events of the Star Forge had been.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I--I can't," she whispered.

"You'd better," I said mercilessly. "Because you can't keep punishing yourself if we're all dead."

I left her then, the call of battle too strong to heed. She would either overcome her combat paralysis, or she wouldn't. If she didn't, I needed to be on that gun turret.

And Mission needed to be there with me. If I had to drag her by the head-tails to get her there. I ran up to the Nav center. Mission and Juhani were there, along with Dustil. "Come on, Little Blue," I said.

Panic flitted across her features. "I should--I have to stay here with--"

"Quit fooling around," I said. Ordo's fist, but was everybody on the ship going insane?

I looked at the targeting screens around the console. What if I was right? "I'd bet good credits there are dark Jedi on those capital ships," I said. "Because there's no other explanation for your weird behavior, Blue. Now get your scrawny ass to the gun turrets!" Unwilling to see if she would put up more of a fight, I grabbed her around the waist and slung her slight body over one shoulder.

"Eek! Canderous! Put me down, you big Bantha-butt!" She beat against my shoulders and might have eventually made a mark. "I'll come willingly, I promise."

I dropped her onto the deck plating. "What the hell was that all about?"

She scrambled to catch up with me. "Less talk, more shooting, Bantha-brains."

"That's my girl."

She climbed into the portside turret chair, and I strapped myself into its aft companion just in time to see a snub-fighter unit positioning for a strafing run across my flank. I put my hands on the controls and let battle-haze take over. "Have a little of this!" 

Next to me, Mission crowed. "Chew on some plasma, chuba-heads!"

There is a rhythm to battle that comes with experience. Do it enough, and you discover that thinking about it only gets in the way, so you let your body and your reflexes take over, and try to occupy your mind with other things, usually smartass remarks.

This time, my mind was occupied on completely alien territory. 

"Hey Blue," I said, after a long time of silent firing.

"Yah?"

"You, uh," _Somebody put a blaster to my head, please_, "been down to the cargo hold lately?"

I was answered with a rapid-fire stutter of plasma cannon. "Walk away from that, Bantha-breath!"

"I know you heard me."

"Busy right now, Canderous."

"Not busy coming up with decent comebacks if all you can think of is 'Bantha-breath.'"

"I never saw nothin'," she said above the servo-whir of the rotating gun chairs.

Aside from the double-negative, the lady protested too much. She didn't want to talk about it. Neither did I, but something still needed to be said. I fell back on standard offensive tactics. "Listen, kid. Whatever you didn't see, keep your trap shut about. Got it?" I spun around to chase a bogey running directly aft. The explosive orange glow of target-achieved lit the gun bubble for a moment, highlighting her relieved expression.

"None of my business if you want to be her whipping boy."

The kid saw too much. "You're right," I said roughly. "It's none of your business. So keep your mouth shut. It's complicated."

"Lacing up your boots is complicated for a Mandalorian," she shot back.

__

So glad we're back on familiar ground, I thought. But if Mission even picked up on the wrongness in the situation, there had to be a problem. Next thing, Onasi would be giving me advice. Then I really would bite a blaster. "Shut up," I said, feeding a heavy stream of plasma into a snub fighter that incinerated instantly.

The ship rocked and shuddered. "What the hell's going on up there," I yelled into my commlink.

"I'm getting hammered up here," Carth said. I heard some inventive dialogue about the mother of that capital ship's gunner. "You bastards aren't keeping me from her!"

"Boy, has he got it bad," Mission said, spinning around to scatter fire across the flank of a passing fighter. I couldn't be sure it wasn't just my paranoid mind that heard, "seems to be going around."

I glanced at the monitor. Our previously target-rich environment showed sparse pickings. "I'm going fore to give that lovesick fool a hand."

"I'll clean up here."

I ran to the fore, where Carth and Jolee were overwhelmed. Dustil was at Nav with Juhani, and Zaalbar was managing portside laser cannons.

"Damn I wish Revan were here," Carth said.

"If she were here, we wouldn't be _here_," Jolee said.

"Yeah, and she couldn't hit the broad side of a bantha, either," I said. It was the wrong thing to say.

Carth glared at me. "Either shut up and shoot, or flush yourself out an airlock, Ordo."

"Fine. Old man, you might want to go find out why Princess isn't doing her magic to make us aim better."

Carth froze in mid-fire. "Bastila's not--she's not battle meditating?"

Hell. I should have kept my maw shut. No help for it now. "She's not."

"Why?"

"Damned if I know," I said irritably, taking up Jolee's vacant gun turret. No, it wouldn't be because there was something wrong with her. And that wrongness in her was the only thing she needed me for. 

Damn Revan, anyway. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have cared.

* * *


	15. Under Fire

Under Fire

Mission

Dustil's plan to keep her with him worked fine until Canderous dragged her to the gun turrets. The abortive conversation she had with him, though, made her glad it was Canderous that got to her. Bastila's fondness for sermons would have been a lot more painful, but Canderous's, "Keep your trap shut," was short and sweet.

And it bothered her. She'd begun to think that Canderous, dirty old man that he was, had somehow done something to Bastila, made her--different. But hearing him say, "It's complicated," shook her. She'd heard him sound angry, irritated, full-on furious, irritated crude, angry, excited, angry, and sarcastic. She'd never heard him sound troubled.

"Brace yourselves, folks," Carth's voice came over the comm, "It's getting too hot for us around here. We're jumping."

No sooner had he said the words than the ship jerked into hyperspace. She fell out of the chair and rolled across the floor. She came to a stop against a bulkhead, one of her head-tails crushed painfully beneath her. She howled in pain and thumbed her communit. "How about a little more warning next time, flyboy!"

"Sorry," Dustil's voice replied. "That was me. We had to go or we would have been fried." 

It figured it had to be Dustil. She rolled gingerly to her feet, cradling her squashed head-tail and whimpering. When she put her weight on her right ankle, it buckled. Not that, too, she groaned.

She limped her way to the medical bay in search of kolto. Maybe when things settled down, one of the Jedi could do some mojo and fix her with the Force.

"Mission."

She didn't find kolto. She found Bastila. If she didn't know better, she'd say that the Jedi was hiding. She hunched in on herself, seated on the bench with her legs curled under her as she painstakingly assembled a medpac.

"Sorry," Mission said, and tried to duck back around the corner. Her injured ankle balked and she slumped against the doorway.

"Come back here, girl," Bastila ordered. "You're obviously hurt. I can help you."

__

Not unless you help yourself, she thought. But her head-tail throbbed, so she slunk back into the medical bay and sat up on the med-bed, cradling her bruised T'chun.

Bastila broke open a kolto injector. "May I?" 

Mission drew back. "Huh-uh," she said. "I'll do it myself." With a hopeful look, she added, "or you could use the Force to heal me."

Bastila paled. "I--my--I'm--my Force powers--are depleted."

Mission's shoulders slumped. "Then let me do it myself. It--hurts."

Dustil walked into the med-lab, cradling his left arm. "Mission!" He immediately went to her. "I'm sorry," he said. "I got trigger-happy on the jump. Are you okay?"

She glared at him. "Toss yourself across the gun deck and see how you feel afterwards." It was petty, and not at all understanding, but her throbbing T'chun wasn't exactly contributing to her capacity for forgiveness and understanding right now.

"Here, let me help." He reached for her lekku.

"No!" As soon as she said it, her good head-tail snapped out and slapped him.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?" He held his cheek.

Bastila put her hand out. "Dustil, you were about to touch her lekku."

"I know, I wanted to help."

"That's a very inappropriate way to do it," Bastila said. "You never, ever touch a Twi'lek's lekku without her permission. It's a very...forward move."

"Oh--_oh_," Dustil said, and blushed. "I'm sorry, Mission, I didn't realize."

"You haven't been around many Twi'leks, have you?" Mission asked. She felt bad for slapping him now. She took the kolto injector, closed her eyes, and stuck herself. White-hot pain shot through her head, so intense she felt like her nose was going to start bleeding. Black spots swam in front of her eyes and she thought she might pass out.

Dustil's arm around her shoulders steadied her. "I'm sorry," he said again. "The academy kept humans and aliens separated. Master Yuthura was the only Twi'lek I was close to. Only if I'd tried to so much as wink at her, I'd have been suffocated in an instant."

Using their proximity, Dustil leaned a little closer and whispered, "I'm here to rescue you from her, too, if you want."

Mission looked up at him. He had such a hangdog expression on his face--he looked so desperate to help her in some way, or at least stop inadvertently hurting her, that she softened. "I sprained my ankle," she said. "You can touch that. I'll even promise not to kick you."

"Perhaps I should see to Dustil's injury first," Bastila said.

Dustil shrugged, then winced. "Didn't have myself strapped in properly. I dislocated my shoulder, but it popped back in. It just hurts like crazy now."

Bastila stabbed him with a hypo-injector.

"Ow!" he cried. "How about a little warning next time!"

"If I'd warned you, you'd have had time to imagine worse pain than what really was," she said calmly. "This way, you only experienced a moment of surprise discomfort."

"And that's why Bastila's not running the med-bay," Jolee said, coming into the room. "Lousy bedside manner." He turned to her. "Thank you very much, Nurse Worse, but I can take over from here."

Bastila suddenly looked lost. "I--I'll go and--"

"Find Juhani, you will, young lady," Jolee finished for her. "You've been neglecting your Jedi exercises. We could've used you back there."

Bastila's color drained from her face. "I--there are--I have my reasons, old man," she said hotly.

"Go tell them to Juhani, and let her knock 'em down. I'm too old." He turned to Mission. "Now, then, missy, where's your malfunction?"

Bastila turned to Mission. "I'd like to talk to you later. In private."

__

Oh no, not that. Anything but that, she thought. But how could she get out of it?

Dustil saved her. "Mission and I need to work on our gravity maskers as soon as possible. Now that the Sith know we're out here alone, we'll need all the help we can get."

"Yes! The gravity maskers." She latched onto the lifeline.

"Very well. But we will talk eventually." It sounded more of a threat than a promise.

Jolee examined her head-tail and tended to her ankle. "Treat it gently for a few hours, while the kolto works its way through your muscle tissue. Now, shoo, both of you."

Mission limped out under her own power, but Dustil scooted up to her and offered his arm. She stared down at it blankly, then looked at him.

"Take it," he said. "I'm offering you help."

__

Help never comes without a price, she thought. But her ankle was still sore, so she put her hand on his arm and let him help her down the hall. Now that the shooting was over, her adrenaline drained away, leaving her tired. And since Dustil's presence seemed to confuse her even on a good day, she was now tired and confused. His next comment didn't help.

"You know, for as young as you are, you've got a lot of experience."

"I'm no kid," she said automatically. "I lived on Taris." In most of the places they'd visited since leaving her beleaguered former home, growing up on Taris seemed to automatically gain her street credits in the cantinas.

"Do you miss it?"

She thought for a moment. "You know, I do. I didn't think I would, but...I was sort of safe there. I knew my place, you know?" It wasn't entirely true.

"I miss my homeworld. And you can't ever go back. Even when the Sith haven't blown it up." Dustil looked at her as they walked. "But you were worse off. Taris wasn't friendly to aliens, and you're a Twi'lek. I might be a little clueless about your culture, but I'm not blind. The lives of Twi'lek girls aren't usually their own."

"I would probably have joined the Hidden Beks--they're--I mean, they _were_--a swoop gang in the Lower City. Gadon Thek was a good man. He would have treated me okay. And Big Z and I had each other's backs."

"Not all the time," he said. "If Revan hadn't come along--"

"I know," she said. "I don't want to think about it." Not for the first time, she got shaky inside when she realized what a close call it was when the Gamorreans ambushed Big Z. If Noura hadn't come along, and he hadn't escaped on his own, she'd be on _her _own. And prey to Davik or Brejik, until she was old enough to join the Beks. "I would have survived somehow."

He raised an eyebrow. "Against the Exchange?"

She thought of her brushes with Davik Kang's subordinates, not counting Canderous. "_Twi'lek girl not know her place. Davik teach you what Twi'lek girl good for. You not willing student, then Davik teach you _hard_ way_." She shuddered. "I'd never be one of Davik's girls. Ever." She shook the sudden mood off. "Besides, the girls in the cantina always told me I was too skinny to be one of them."

"Mission." He stopped. Turned, and turned her to face him. "I don't know if you noticed it, but you're not too skinny at all." 

"Now you're calling me fat?" She looked up into his eyes, teasing. His expression made her once again aware that he wasn't just her buddy, or her partner in crime, so to speak. 

"You're very beautiful," he said softly, standing too close to her.

Her heart did a flip-flop in her chest. She panicked. "Don't do that," she said. The Vulkars in Javyar's cantina at least stuck with brute strength. She knew how to handle that. These pretty words made her want to let down her guard. To trust him.

"I'm only telling the truth, Mission."

She stared up at him for who knew how long before Canderous' voice over the comm ordered Dustil to the nav center. He smiled down at her again. "I can see it, even if you can't."

She didn't realize where her steps were carrying her until she stared blankly at an unfamiliar bulkhead nowhere near the cargo hold. Why am I going to crew quarters? But she knew the answer to that already. While Dustil was occupied elsewhere, she was going to find out just why he bothered her so much. She activated her stealth emitter and crept into the deserted bunkroom.

Dustil's duffel sat on his bed like a squat infant hutt. She wasted no time in opening it. Neatly folded clothes, more clothes, datapads with holocomics--hey, she'd like to read that one. Taris was woefully out of date on the adventures of Vod Krakenslayer and his mighty sword of galactic justice.

At the bottom, she hit paydirt. A carved bone box, just big enough to hold a few personal items. It had an intricate lock on it that she scoffed at--it was more decorative than useful, especially against her nimble fingers. The box snapped open with a few prods and she shifted through the contents.

An enameled Sith medallion surfaced. He kept it? She remembered what Revan had told her about how they had to acquire their Sith medallion.

"I took it off the body of a Sith I killed," she'd said, nearly emotionlessly. "He couldn't have been much older than you, and already he had skills at torture that make me want to barf."

Who had Dustil killed to get his medallion? She dropped the medallion back in the box, suddenly unwilling to poison herself by holding the vile thing. Her fingers next touched on a stone tablet, a mistake she instantly regretted.

Cold enveloped her, numbing her hand to the wrist. She didn't have to be Force-sensitive to sense the Dark Side in this thing. With a small cry, she jerked her hand back, sucking on her numb fingers and whimpering. She felt like crying. Not for herself--she never trusted Dustil completely, in spite of his charm. But for Carth. He didn't deserve to have a--a slimy Sith for a son. Carth was noble and good and honorable and brave, and here his own son included among his prized possessions Sith artifacts so evil that even she could feel them.

She packed away his things, careful to return them to the order and state in which she found them. Then she crept out of the crew quarters. 

* * *


	16. Arrogance

Arrogance

Bastila

Secrets are difficult to keep, especially on board a ship. With the crew of the Ebon Hawk, they are doubly hard to keep. Once again, my arrogance proved to be my downfall.

I left the medical bay with emotions in turmoil. Mission's rejection of me hurt me with a new kind of pain, one that I did not crave.

Yet it was no more than I deserved. The dark thoughts that torment me when I am alone force me to isolate myself from the Force. I cannot allow my taint to pollute those around me. Revan has already succumbed to it.

My only solace was Canderous. He asked few questions, kept things brutally uncomplicated. But I should have known my darkness would overwhelm even him. It was inevitable that our purposes would cross. I did not touch the Force anymore, and he would not accept that. Hearing sympathy from him threw me--he should not have been so perceptive. But again, my arrogance supercedes my wisdom.

I approached Juhani with fear in my heart. The Cathar woman sat on her bunk in the starboard crew quarters, in a meditative pose. "Join me," she said calmly, invitingly, her lilting accent softening the command.

But it was still a command. Automatically, I schooled my features into a mask of serenity. "Forgive me, Juhani, but I am weary. The battle exhausted me."

Her eyes snapped open and she regarded me with too-keen perception. But she didn't confront me. "That is too bad. Without your help, I cannot locate Revan in the Force on my own. I fear we may be too late to save her if we do not find her soon."

The fear in my heart blossomed into despair. I wanted to run from the room, but I could not. I suspected she was using the Force to hold me, but I felt no unnatural compulsion. Perhaps then, it was my own guilt keeping me there. "Please," I begged her, "do not make me do this. The Dark Side--"

"Is what I battle every day," she cut me off. 

"I did far worse than simply striking down my master," I said. 

"At the Rakatan temple summit," she said, "you accused me of hiding like an animal in a cave when confronted with the power of the Dark Side. It appears that my cave is not otherwise uninhabited." She offered me a wry smile. "You cannot lick your wounds forever. They will never heal that way."

She was wrong. And right. I was not licking my wounds, but I was hiding. Hiding my taint from those around me. I could not be trusted with the Force, my turn to the Dark Side proved that. "Without the Masters to guide me, I cannot escape my past," I said.

"The Masters are not here. And there are those of us not so fortunate as to have the Masters present in our everyday lives."

I closed my eyes against the onslaught of guilt. My mind sought solace in familiar patterns, and I found myself tentatively reaching out with the Force.

But fear and guilt, memories of what I had done on the Star Forge, of the lives I had snuffed out, both personally and through my Battle Meditation for the Sith, jostled to the fore, and the need to punish, to be punished, to atone overwhelmed me. "I am sorry, Juhani," I said, and I ran.

* * *


	17. Falling Forever

Falling Forever

Carth

I found her on the Rakata homeworld. The erratic nature of her jumps took us all over hyperspace, and Juhani wasn't having any luck finding her in the Force. And Bastila was an even bigger mess than we originally thought. I spent a lot of time looking at the galactic map in Nav, begging her spirit to bring us together. I kept returning to the time on the Rakata beach, when she came back from the Rakata temple with Juhani and Jolee. I suddenly knew. Rakata was where she'd made her choice, and where she would go when she could no longer bear its consequences.

The Star Forge's destruction had caused the island chain to suffer extremes in its normally temperate weather. The tropical seas frothed in the stormy winds that blew around and in between the rusting hulks of the ships that had crashed due to the planet's disruptor field.

"There!" Dustil shouted, pointing to a tall spire of wreckage in the sea to the east of our landing site. On the jutting hulk of what looked like an engine nacelle from an old-style Republic frigate decommissioned before the Exar Kun war, a lone figure could be seen, climbing the wreckage to the top.

"That's her," I said. I toed off my boots and shrugged out of my jacket as I ran down the beach. I left clothing scattered on the sand and leapt into the surf wearing nothing but my thermal Republic-issues, without a thought to the frigid waters, the dangers in them, or anything else but Noura.

"Father, wait!" I ignored Dustil, as I ignored Canderous's grumbling. "Nothing worse than a damn fool in love." He had no room to talk.

I reached the nacelle and began to climb. My hands were frozen and scraped along the rusted, salt-encrusted metal, but I continued to climb, my world narrowed down to the next step, the next strain of muscles, one more meter higher. Wind buffeted me and the saltwater scoured my skin and hair. I was beyond cold, beyond pain. All I could think of was Revan, Revan, Revan.

I couldn't save her on the Star Forge. I couldn't save her from Malak, or the Jedi Council's machinations. _Revan_. _You saved the galaxy for us. Let me save you from yourself_.

I could have been climbing forever, I don't know. But suddenly, there was nothing above me to grab hold of. I swung my leg over the edge of the nacelle and was confronted with a dented concave bowl of rusting metal. And her.

She stood on the opposite edge of the bowl, staring at me. "C-carth?"

I nodded, edging slowly around the rim of the bowl, closer to her.

She flinched away when I stood within three meters of her and I stopped, close to a breaking point of my own. _Don't turn away from me now, please_.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was thin, thready, and as rusty as the hulk we stood on.

I extended one hand towards her. "Protecting you, Revan. Remember? I promised I'd protect you." _Only now I'm protecting you from yourself_.

She glanced behind her, down, down into the stormy seas below. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them," she said.

I noticed the tears glimmering on her lashes. I nodded. In the distant past, I had my own moment like this--just about every soldier did at one time or another--the realization that in cutting down the enemy, you cut down some other _person_, along with all their hopes and dreams and ambitions. Their potential. "I know, Noura." You come to terms with it, because if you don't, the next one going down is gonna be you.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I mean the innocent ones. When I was Darth Revan."

"Noura," I said again. "Let me help you."

She shivered. Like me, she wore her Republic-issues, only hers looked like they'd been used as chew toys by a rancor. The midriff of her singlet had been torn completely off, and one strap of her breast band fluttered in the constant wind. "Don't call me that," she said harshly. "Noura Den Hades isn't real. She's a construct of the Jedi Order. I have to face the fact that I'm Revan. Noura Den Hades is nobody."

"No!" I said. "Noura is there, inside you. She's the woman I fell in love with."

"And Revan is the woman who destroyed you," she shot back, swaying on her bare feet.

For the first time, I really looked at her--not that I had been able to get much of a look at her after the Star Forge.

Gooseflesh stood up on her bare skin and her entire body shook with the cold and the wind. But deeper than that, I could see the way she favored one leg, treating the swollen knee gingerly. She hugged herself and her forearms were criss-crossed with scars. Scars that weren't nearly as livid as the trio slashing across her right ribcage, black-edged gashes with bright crimson centers that fairly pulsed with angry heat.

She hadn't used the Force to heal herself. Even Bastila's scars were little more than faint lines and a haunted look in her eyes. But Noura--Revan--

A bruise the size of my head bloomed on her left hip, the blue and green rings and goosebumps resembling a miniature holomap of a lush and habitable world of oceans and forests. Its brother could be found on her shoulder, complemented by a goose-egg the size of a pazaak card. Another goose-egg rested on her temple, half hidden by her hair, which was growing out in a soft fuzz around her topknot. I remembered when she and Juhani and Mission had been laughing in the Ebon Hawk's rec area. Juhani had enlisted the Twi'lek's help in braiding Noura's frizzy black topknot into neat microbraids with beads at the ends.

Noura spent the next several hours swinging her head back and forth while she went about her shift duties. "I feel like an Alderaanian princess," she said. "I've half a mind to raid the sheets on the bunks and make me a gown to go with my new hairdo."

"You'd need a personality transplant as well." Even Bastila had joined in the silliness.

Noura had been delighted. "Juhani, do you think we should do Bastila next?"

Mission's elbow short-circuited Canderous's comment, but the Mandalorian managed to get the gist of his point across. I even joined in on some of the bawdy banter. "I'll get the holocron," I said.

Bastila protested. "No--I--I couldn't."

Noura had been so vibrant, so charming. "Oh, come on, Bastila. No Jedi ever fell to the dark side because of her hairstyle."

Mission laughed. "There's gotta be a reason the Sith Lords all wear hoods and masks. Bad hair works just as well as any other theory."

Revan's hair was as bad as it gets, now. The braids were gone, and the long hair gathered in the sagging topknot was a two-toned womp-rat's nest obscuring one of her ears. Her natural color is auburn. I wonder if they let her remember that, or if she had to discover it on her own.

She didn't talk about the battle with Malak inside the Star Forge. She didn't talk about anything that happened. But Bastila had. She used the Force to show me how Revan had turned her back from the edge, to make me believe she'd returned to the light.

It cemented my feelings for Noura. For Revan. At that moment, I knew that, had I been along on the Star Forge, and she had turned to the Dark Side, I would have damned myself to hell with her without hesitation.

She hadn't surrendered to the Dark Side. Not then.

But now...I could feel it sucking her down, into a place where we couldn't reach her. "I swore I'd protect you. I love you."

"I k-keep th-thinking," she said through chattering teeth. "That if I jump from high enough, that if I jump into water cold enough, my sins will be washed away." She closed those smoky-quartz eyes, and for the first time, I noticed her bottom lip was split open and swollen.

It's hard to say why something as trivial as a fat lip set me off, but sudden fury at the entire galaxy--Malak, the Jedi Council, the Sith, the Republic, even Revan herself for not healing--grabbed me in a clawlike vise. The flashpoint burned behind my eyes as I watched her body, in slow-motion, drift backwards towards the edge. 

Something, maybe the Force, maybe the power of love, shot me across the space that divided us at light speed, so that as she sagged, I was there for her, arms locking around her battered, bruised, fragile body as we both staggered.

Her eyes snapped open. "What are you doing?"

"Going down with you," I said. "Remember what you said on the Star Forge to Bastila?"

I tried to counterbalance her backwards momentum. "You claimed me--us." Her words on the Star Forge echoed in my mind, borrowed from Bastila's memories. "_Carth is mine, Bastila. Juhani, Jolee, Zaalbar, Mission, the droids, hell, even Canderous is mine. So are you. And I don't give up on what's mine. I trust you, Bastila_."

I stared down into her eyes. The wind gusted and I felt my balance slipping. "Now I'm claiming you right back."

"You big, dumb nerf-herder!" She beat at my chest. She didn't struggle to free herself. "You'll get us both killed!"

I felt us begin to fall. But I'd been falling forever, since the day we crashed into each other's lives, so I was okay with the feeling. "I love you," I said.

"You love _Noura_." Her eyes filled with pain. "Noura's dead. I killed her."

"I love _you_, Revan" I shouted back at her. "Whatever the hell you want to call yourself."

Some nameless emotion flooded her eyes, chasing away the pain. The water was expanding rapidly to fill my vision. It was going to hurt like hell when we hit it. As the water rushed up to meet us, she arched her body in my arms, changing our trajectory just enough so that we hit the water and sliced cleanly through the surface.

The cold enveloped me, gripped every one of my organs and nerves and squeezed, stealing my breath, my thoughts. Icy numbness flooded me until blackness crawled at the edges of my vision. Through the cold fire I kept my arms locked around Revan. _This time, I'm not letting her go_.

* * *


	18. Rebirth

Rebirth

Revan

He came for me. He climbed to the top of the wreck and tried to turn me away from my destructive path. That alone was enough to humble me with awe. But what he did after I refused to turn, when I couldn't swim up from the depths to which I'd sunk, that truly turned me around. A good man would have come for me.

Only the greatest of men would have fallen with me.

We hit the water like a ton of bricks. We would have been dead if I hadn't remembered that on Darellia, there were these incredible cliffs that stood sentinel over deep blue warm seas, and that as children, we were taught how to properly dive from the cliffs at an early age. But a dive from that height, even perfectly executed, would still hurt.

Thinking back, I should have used the Force to slow our fall, but I wasn't thinking clearly at the time. My mind was full of, _he loves me_. He loves me, and not just the part of me that is Noura, but the Revan part, too, in all her flawed, hideous glory. I understand now why the Masters are always warning Jedi away from love. It can be distracting. But they're wrong. The rewards far outweigh the disadvantages.

The turbulent seas swallowed us up, sucking us down until I thought for sure my redemption had come right before my expiration. The water was cold, so cold, all around us, the only heat came from his body where he held onto me and I stuck fast to him as our descent slowed into the murky depths.

Air left my lungs for an eternity, as the person I was, the guilt, the fear, the anguish I felt all seemed to resolve themselves into something separate from me. Who am I? Noura Den Hades, weedy-looking broad with more attitude than sense, taking on a quest of galactic significance? Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith and scourge of the galaxy and all who opposed me? Revan the Padawan Jedi, who knew better than the Council about whether or not to enter the Mandalorian war and whose overconfidenced convinced me to ignore the dangers inherent in finding the Star Forge in favor of its tactical advantages? The icy waters stripped away my identities until there was nothing left but me, the core of who I was, both before and after the mind-wipe, before and after being a Sith Lord. _All I can be is nothing more or less than who I am_.

I am a creature of instinct, guided by an inner light. I have always followed my inner beacon. I'd followed it to fight the Mandalorians, I'd followed it to the Star Forge--both times. I went off-course when I stopped following it, when I'd mistaken the trajectory of my current path at a given moment for the whole of the journey.

I expanded, the cool inner light of me swelling and reaching out to the infinity of the universe. If I just let go of the heat, I could become one with that cool serenity--

The heat tightened around me and I remembered what--who--belonged to that heat. Carth! The light that guided me surrounded him and I followed it once more, this time back to my body. I was being pulled up, buoyed in an ever faster rush until we broke the surface, gasping for breath. 

Without heed to my own stinging eyes, my fingers traveled over his face, wiping the water from it, searching for the perpetually-scruffy planes of his jaw, listening blindly for the rise and fall of his breath.

"Revan?"

I opened my streaming eyes. "Carth." I wanted to tell him I loved him, to thank him for coming to save me again, that I was sorry I'd led him on a not-that-merry chase around the galaxy, and were we going to be in a lot of trouble when we got back, but looking into his deep eyes and seeing myself reflected back, clean and wet and hopeful, my body had a different idea. I used my hands on either side of his face to pull him to me and finally get the kiss we'd been cheated out of so many times. He tasted of salt and hope, and it was the sweetest taste I've ever known.

"I love you," I said, as we broke apart finally, treading water. 

He rested his forehead against mine. "I know."


	19. Eye Of The Storm

Eye of the Storm

Revan

I looked down at our tangled limbs, slowly turning blue in the frigid waters. "We're a sad pair, aren't we?"

My underwear was in a semi-nonexistent state. "The next time I consider a suicidal jump, I will do so with foundation garments in better condition."

Carth laughed, tossing his head back. "I don't mind the view," he said. My breast band floated in the water around me, barely maintaining my modesty solely by the luck of the currents of the water lapping around me. And I'd be willing to bet my swim to shore would be an awkward one, filled with pauses to tug up what was left of my skivvies.

"Well, at least now I know your thermals come off. I was beginning to wonder if they'd been painted on." Carth fared little better. His undershirt had shredded at the seams. Huge rents in the fabric made the thing little more than a rag. He shrugged out of it and we began to swim to shore, where our crew waited on the beach for us.

He didn't let me go the whole swim towards shore. I kept one hand on my knickers while the other paddled halfheartedly. In the end, he waded up the beach with me cradled in his arms, and I let him. He was the hero, after all. I buried my head in his chest, content for a moment.

Then I noticed the tattoo. The stylized sword was drawn as if it pierced the skin over his heart. The glyphs for "Unforgiven" ran down the length of the blade and three drops of blood surrounded the inked wound. A memory flirted with the back of my mind, telling me I had seen that symbol somewhere before. I tried to chase it down, but it evaporated, leaving me with a sudden, slight headache.

Mission and Dustil waited for us on the beach, while Canderous stood in the surf, waves hurling themselves futilely at his impervious Mandalorian boots, and his arms folded across his chest. 

I wiggled until Carth let me stand up. I kept one hand on my sagging bottoms and the other across my chest. Canderous and I looked at each other for a long moment. His iron-ore eyes betrayed nothing, and I expected nothing. Mission made to step forward with a blanket and I shook my head negative. Not until things were resolved with Canderous. I owed him a free shot with no armor. "I needed a good bath," I said, "After having my head up a bantha's butt for so long."

His eyes narrowed. The first joke I'd made about being a Sith Lord after escaping the Leviathan had fallen flat, and between that, Bastila's absence, and my own need to deal with a past I couldn't remember, the banter and mirth that cemented us all as a crew aboard the Ebon Hawk had dried up. We went to Manaan, Rakata, and the Star Forge with grim determination and brutal honesty, not levity. Yet another way I lost my guiding light. When I stopped laughing at the universe, it stopped lauging, too.

Finally, he uncrossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. "I think after chasing your sorry ass halfway across the galaxy, I should at least get to see you naked."

"You're a dirty old pervert, Mandalorian," I said, and smiled at him. "Don't ever change."

"Too late," he muttered, though I'm sure it wasn't meant for my ears. "So you two fools got yourselves sorted out, then?"

"Not a chance." I glanced up at Carth. "But I think we're out of immediate danger." 

Mission draped the blanket over me and gave me a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said.

I noticed there were bandages on one of her lekku. I reached up to touch her forehead lightly. "I'm sorry," I said simply. "I didn't mean to cause you guys so much hassle. I guess all the darkness didn't die with Malak and the Star Forge."

"The darkness is within us, not without." Juhani stepped forward. 

I hugged her, too, petting the silky fur on the back of her neck. "I lost my way for a bit."

"And tried to give an old man a heart attack," Jolee said. "Not to mention our name is rancor barf in most of the galaxy now."

I hung my head.

"That's my fault, old man. And if you recall, you all had plenty of opportunity to leave the ship." 

"Father, what's that--"

I turned to see Dustil pointing at Carth's chest. Carth snatched the blanket from Dustil's hands. "Nothing." He turned away from Dustil and moved close to me again. Behind him, Dustil's narrowed eyes and thoughtful expression made me realize just how lucky I was to get an Onasi man to trust me.

"And miss all the fun?" Jolee cackled. "No, missy, the Republic can live without an old man for a few days while he helps a friend in need."

I nodded and returned to Carth's arms, huddling for warmth. I was in for a lecture, I knew, but--I glanced around, and a sinking feeling reached me through the Force. "Where's Bastila?"

It was Canderous who spoke. "She's still on board the Hawk."

I reached out for Bastila through the Force, following the tremor, only to find a blank spot where my sister Jedi ought to be. I looked at Canderous and the second shock of my day was the slight tightening of his features, and the way he suddenly started to, well, fidget.

"Thing is," Mission said, "On our way here, we ran afoul of a pretty big chunk of what's left of the Sith."

"So I guess that means no beach vacation," I said. Too bad the beach wasn't warm and sunny like it had been when we first landed here.

"The Council will not be happy with our delay," Juhani said.

I remembered the Council's orders, before I lost my way. Report to Yavin 4 with the other Jedi to receive new assignments. The adrenaline coursing through me after the final battle with Malak hadn't gone away by the time the hurried awards ceremony took place, and Master Vandar spoke of my redemption as if it were a done deal, words designed to make crowds cheer and heroes stand up straight and proud. The elation of having defeated Malak, and emerged alive from the battle of the Star Forge, with my entire crew intact, even my prodigal sister Jedi, kept me from dealing with the fact that I had unfinished business with the Council. Namely, I wanted to know where they got off thinking they could play games with my life and memories. 

Things had turned out well, but it would have served them right if they hadn't, and Bastila's dark offer had indeed tempted me. The power I could have wielded. I could have let go of the guilt I'd been feeling since the revelation of my identity, by embracing a code of survival of the fittest--the conquered were weak by virtue of having let themselves be conquered.

"You're right," I said, looking around at my motley crew of galactic orphans. "I'm sorry I dragged you guys halfway across the galaxy."

"Hey," Mission said. "That's what friends do. Now come on, Big Z's going to want to make sure you're okay, too."

We climbed back up the ramp of the Ebon Hawk, Carth and I taking up the rear in a tattered limp. I couldn't seem to let him go. Fortunately, he didn't mind.

Zaalbar's hug was enough to squeeze the seawater out of me. [If you even think of trying something like that again, I will shackle you to me day and night to prevent it!] The water still drying on my hair and body seeped into his fur and the smell of wet Wookiee soon permeated the swoop hangar where we had our reunion. I didn't mind, for once. "I think my leg shackles have already been claimed," I said.

[Then let us leave this place. Many Sith have crash-landed here and not all the Rakata are unsympathetic to them. The scanners show much activity in the skies.]

"Go hit the 'freshers," Mission said. "Before you rust the deck plates. We'll get this bucket off the ground. Then," the little Twi'lek said, "you and me need to talk."

"You and I," I automatically corrected.

"Go soak your head. And the rest of you. You smell funny."

I went almost weak with relief over our exchange. The tenuous threads of connection I felt with my crew were the only restraints holding me back from turning more than once, I realized, heading for the 'fresher. Mission's faith in me and Zaalbar's life-debt to me anchored me with gossamer threads. Jolee's measured look at the temple summit as he waited for me to accept or reject Bastila's offer, and Juhani's pleading with Bastila to return to the light wrapped around me. Canderous's battle-hardened respect, and the reluctant confidence into which he'd taken me about his history, and the crisis of faith in his formerly unshakable worldview kept me from betraying him, even though he would have followed me to the Sith as well as the Republic.

But it was that last gossamer bond between myself and Carth that made the possibility of joining Bastila an _im_possibility. I couldn't betray Carth. In a moment of clarity, I knew that in order to truly become the Sith Lord again, I would have no room for love. My heart would be a weakness that would be exploited by those closest in power to me. Bastila would not hesitate to use Carth to destroy me, unless I eliminated him from the outset. And the thought of eliminating Carth, of the words he spoke on Manaan that had been such a fragile and precious gift turning into a weakness, filled me with sick horror.

The mere memory of the choice I had to make still filled me with dread, but it was cushioned by the relief I felt at having Carth by my side, and Bastila back. I didn't have to sacrifice the one for the other.

But the Jedi Council wouldn't see it the same way. Jedi, as I have been told, are forbidden to love. Attachments are discouraged, because of situations like Jolee's.

For as wise as they are, the Council can be such fools.

Attachments are what saved me. Three times, now. From the desperate fascination that led Bastila to preserve my life after Malak's treachery, to my reluctance to betray my crew and Carth with her atop the temple, and to this moment, when he dove into the darkness to fish me out.

When they discourage attachments, the Council fights a losing battle, against the very nature of the galaxy. They are one step up from the Sith, who punish attachments. Dustil is living proof of that. Even Jolee, whose memories of love ended in pain, still maintained that he was better off for having loved Nayama.

Even Bastila, in spite of having been virtually raised by the Council, tried, in her stilted, unfamiliar way to reach out. First when her moment of weakness or inspiration or folly--depending on who you asked--originally saved my life, then later during the Star Forge search.

She annoyed me as much as she inspired affection, perhaps even more, with her high-minded sermons on the Jedi Code. It took me some time, and her confession of underconfidence in her own abilities, to realize that the sermons were her attempt to connect with me in the only way she knew how.

Clean and dressed in simple robes, I sought out the last member of my crew. Bastila was hiding in the Force, and also hiding in the cargo hold, sorting through our equipment as if the Republic depended on us knowing exactly how many adrenal stimulants and repair packs we had in the Ebon Hawk's storage containers.

"Hi," I said, feeling dread lodge in my stomach. If asking about her on the beach made even Canderous fidget, she must have been blistering the entire crew with her opinion of me.

"Hello." She didn't look at me.

"The Jedi Council's going to have my hide when we get to Yavin 4," I said. Unable to bear any more tension, I put a hand on her shoulder. "So if you want to take a piece out of me, you should probably do it now, rather than later. I don't think the Council will leave much after they're through with me."

Our relationship before her sacrifice had been one of strain, but we'd been warming to each other. Her hesitant admission that I seemed stronger than her, and that she'd come to rely on me for the mission had been, I understood now, her attempt at making friends.

Now I was having problems reaching out to her. Sith Lords didn't usually make friends, they attracted minions and lackeys. And the last time we meditated together, my anguish and imbalance unleashed something dark and terrifying.

"The Council will be merciful," she said. "Mercy and compassion are the cornerstones of the Jedi Code," she recited.

__

Mercy and compassion can be far crueler than anything the Sith come up with, I thought. And I didn't think for a minute the Council was ignorant of that fact. "Well, I was hoping you would want to meditate with me again. I know last time I really botched things up. Maybe you could show me how to stop that from happening again." It wasn't as hard as I thought to humble myself, even in front of Bastila.

"I--I don't think so," she said stiffly.

"I know you're angry with me for taking off like that. I'm sorry," I said. "Maybe if I'd had--or remembered--a little more of that Jedi training you keep singing praises of, I might not have pulled such a fool stunt."

"No," she said. "You might have reacted--differently." Her pretty, Mon-Calamari-blue eyes unfocused. "And in ways not anticipated by the Council, or those they train." She finally turned to face me, but the distant look in her eyes was still there. "You might have started thinking and doing things to hide your pain until it turned septic."

The distant look gave me an uneasy feeling. "I might have, at that. But my friends came through for me. Won't you meditate with me?"

She shook her head. "I cannot be trusted with the Force anymore. Not without extreme supervision. Supervision only the Council can provide."

The uneasy feeling blossomed into full-blown dread. This wasn't the Bastila who sang the praises of the Jedi Order, and touted the supremacy of the will of the Force. I remembered the blankness I felt from her on the beach. At the time, I thought it might be because she was working through being furious with me. "How long since you've touched the Force?" I asked.

"Our last meditation." She turned away. "If you don't mind, I've work to do before we reach Yavin 4." The dismissal was clear.

I left the cargo bay and wandered through the ship until I found Mission. She and I played some pazaak and I waited patiently until she spoke up. "What's going to happen to us?" she asked.

I shrugged. "The Council's going to tear me a new one for running off, but they'll likely be forgiving, since this time I didn't try to decimate the Republic when I got a bug up my snout. There's still a lot to do to end the war. I don't know where they'll send me. But you've got a home here if you want it," I said.

A small smile danced across her lips. "You couldn't get rid of me. And don't forget, Big Z swore a life debt to you. You don't get out of those easily."

"Well, I guess that takes care of the three of us, then." I lowered my voice. "If you promise to keep a secret," I said.

When she nodded, I went on. "I want to keep every single one of you. Why can't we go on together, just like we have been? We can go clean up on Sith, maybe help build the new Jedi Enclave on Yavin 4, or--or we could go back to Taris, even. Help with the rescue and rebuilding efforts. I'd drag us all to Kashyyyk, too, if I didn't think we'd end up being more of a hindrance to Zaalbar than a help. No. I want to keep you all."

"Especially Carth," she teased.

"Well, he's mine, anyway. And I guess that means Dustil's mine by default."

Mission's expression cooled slightly, but enough for me to raise an eyebrow.

"That's sweet. Disturbingly possessive, but sweet. You know, Bastila shared with us what you told her on the Star Forge."

I raised my eyebrows. "She did?" Her reaction to my mention of Dustil was forgotten in the face of this information. Carth had said something similar on top of the wreck, but I hadn't had time to register it.

Mission nodded. "She had to. We wouldn't believe she'd turned back to the light without some sort of proof. I'm glad she did, but I wouldn't want to go through a Jedi bond like that for any length of time. Sharing Bastila's mind is kind of scary."

"You have no idea," I said wryly. 

She shuffled the Pazaak cards and drew for her side deck for the next game. "No, it's--it was more than that."

"How so?" I dealt four cards from my side deck. Dammit, but where were my beloved +/-2 cards that I paid top credit for on Manaan and Tatooine? All I had was a one, two fives, and a six, all +/- cards, but my luck usually ran to needing twos and threes, not ones and fives.

The autodealer shuffled the base deck and dealt each of us our first card. Mission waited two turns before replying to my question. "It's--her mind--it was like I could almost taste the-the Dark Side." She shuddered. "Like a big, slimy worm-thing in the middle of her mind."

"Mission," I said, playing one of my fives to pull my card tally back under bust, "She'd just come out of the darkside. And if you saw what we went through before she returned, you'll know how hard it was for her."

"I know, I know," she said, right before beating me with a twenty to my adjusted nineteen. "But I guess I just don't understand how she could return to the light and have everything be all right with that--that thing lying right there in the middle of her soul like a big dead rancor."

"I did," I said.

She shook her head, her head-tails waving. "You had a memory wipe and a complete reprogram, after almost dying. Near death experiences can change people."

"I almost wiped the floor of the Star Forge with Bastila," I said. "That's as close to a near-death experience as you can get. Besides, she's suffered her share of guilt over her actions."

Mission nodded. "Enough so that even when we were up against two Star Forge Cruisers and half a dozen squadrons of snub-fighters, she couldn't battle meditate for us. We had to jump to hyperspace to get out of the hairball."

"She didn't?" Bastila's earlier admonition that she hadn't touched the Force suddenly took on more problematic proportions. Once you learned the ways of the Force, it was almost impossible not to use it, at least a little. Even mind-wiped, I'd been using the Force on Taris. Untrained and unconsciously, but still using it. "You'd have to be actively fighting against nature to cut yourself off from the Force like that," I said, more to myself than her.

"That's not all. She's behaving very...oddly. It's none of my business, but I walked in on her and--someone else, and she was--doing some very un-Bastila-like things with--that person."

"Huh? I don't know what you're getting--_oh_." I finally noticed her blush. "So she is mortal after all."

She didn't want to say any more, so I left her alone. I didn't need to hear more, anyway, not when her surface thoughts broadcast the image right into my head.

I watched Bastila very carefully after that. I found what I was looking for during late shifts, when she would make her way to the swoop hangar, or Port crew quarters when Zaalbar and Carth had a shift together and Dustil was getting into trouble somewhere else with Mission. She moved with a desperate, furtive determination.

I noticed their shared shifts included wordless communication--a single, questioning glance with an affirmative return. Cool, businesslike. At least on her end. I caught him staring at her more than once while she was occupied at Nav.

Carth called me on it during a late shift we shared. I knew our fate was still undecided, and I wanted to take every opportunity to use what time we had alone for more..._productive_...things, but his damnable nobility insisted we put responsibility first. I grumbled about it. "I should have taken Bastila's offer at the temple," I said. "Then I could have chained you to my Sith throne as my love slave."

"I don't think the Sith have love slaves," he said, turning red.

"I'd make a new part of the code. 'There is no responsibility for Carth Onasi, there is only pleasing Revan.' "

"So my new title would be 'plaything of the Sith Lord?' "

"Works for me."

At least he wasn't opposed to us taking a little comfort in each other. He pulled me down into his lap. "What's on your mind, gorgeous?"

"Bastila," I replied, letting my fingers slide up through his thick hair. I loved his hair, that deep auburn that sparked with fiery highlights. My own natural color was closer to Wookiee, and tended to fade to the color that resembled the outside of a building on Tatooine. "I think she's sinking fast. And she doesn't have a Carth to come chasing after her."

Carth looked out the viewport for a long moment. I knew he was remembering his own dark times. He still hadn't shared them with me. Forthcoming with information, he never was. "The Council will set her straight."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked incredulously. I pulled away, feeling nervous. Before he said he loved me and I said the same, I wouldn't have thought twice about calling him on the carpet for a difference in viewpoint. Now, I was worried about having a lovers' quarrel. How the mighty have fallen.

I closed my eyes and let the Force flow through me. I thought about the battles Jolee and his wife must have had. Was Carth's love for me strong enough to handle something like that? As soon as my mind formed the question, I had my answer. Of course it was. I was acting like a silly teenager, something I had never been and had passed the age limit for a good twenty years ago.

So I let him have it. "You, who fairly pitched a fit about being left out of the loop when they first sent us to find the Star Forge, are now fully confident that their aims and motives are transparent? I don't believe it."

"_Pitched _a _fit_?" he echoed. He dumped me off his lap. "Wench. I'll show you how to pitch a fit."

With that, he began tickling me. "No! No! Cut it out!" I gasped helplessly, felled by his fingers as they dug into my ribs, and one spot on my side guaranteed to dissolve me into a puddle. I curled up into a ball on the deck plates and begged for mercy.

"All I'm saying," he said, after I'd wedged myself safely under the console and out of his reach until I could stop laughing. "Is that Bastila's always depended on the Council for guidance. She can't help but take their orders. Sometimes following orders is what gets a soldier through a harsh time. The only thing that gets him through."

"You have a point," I said, crawling out from under the console. "But Bastila's craftier than she makes out to be. She knows how to fool the Council. She fooled them about her motivations for keeping me alive." My own resentment towards the Council surfaced. "She can con her handlers if she's motivated enough. It's not that difficult if you know the right words to spout." I must have said some of those same right words myself the first time I went out to fight the Mandalorians.

Speaking of Mandalorians. "I'm going to have to talk to Canderous," I said, settling back into his lap. One thing I noticed after my idiot's dive was that I seemed to be a lot more tactile than before. I was always touching Carth by default, but that new tactility extended to the other members of the crew as well. I patted Mission's shoulders, stroked Juhani's topknot, went after Zaalbar with a brush (and eventually caught him once or twice, too), I even linked arms with Jolee if we were walking somewhere, or let him talk me into massaging the arthritis in his knuckles while we talked.

But Canderous...I have this _thing _with Canderous that's not easy to explain. Before the incident with Jagy, we respected each other as warriors did.

I loved listening to the war stories of his youth, and he found in me an audience that understood the life of a career warrior. After killing Jagy, stress-fractures appeared in his battle armor. It really hit home to him that the way of life he'd lived for so long was truly over.

Before going into the Rakatan temple, he swore his allegiance to me. He'd probably never admit it, but I think Carth wasn't the only one that sensed I'd have to make a choice soon. The difference was that Canderous would have followed me no matter what side I chose. Part of me is intimidated by that kind of loyalty. I can't remember specific incidents, but I sense that Malak had that same kind of loyalty to me when we were young. Malak's loyalty festered and turned to poison, however.

At the Star Forge, just before leaving the Ebon Hawk to meet my destiny, Canderous put a hand on my shoulder. "My time of battle isn't yet done for good. No matter what happens, I'm your man until the end. I'll see this through by your side until it's finished, and beyond." He held out his other hand, and I gripped it, palm to forearm, warrior-style, and held it there for a long moment, unable to speak. Words didn't seem enough in that moment. I just looked into his iron-hard eyes and nodded, feeling my own eyes sting and burn with unshed tears and the tidal wave of destiny riding above me.

When I confronted Bastila, and told her that the crew was all mine, I claimed Canderous as well, and if Carth and Mission are to be believed, that Bastila shared the exchange with the entire crew, then he knew of it. The clannish heritage of the Mandalorians made that claim nothing to sneeze at.

Where he swore fealty to me, I pledged responsibility back to him, in the manner of the clans. His sword and blaster became mine to command, and his well-being became mine to uphold, as well.

I looked down at Carth. He stroked my hip absentmindedly. "Canderous is in uncharted space for maybe the first time in his life," he said.

"That makes two of us," I said, reluctantly disengaging from his embrace. "Maybe more. Maybe it's just me, but I don't feel very much like the savior of the galaxy right now."

He squeezed my hand as I made to leave the cockpit. "That means you're still doing it right."

I smiled. "Love you, Flyboy."

"Right back atcha, Gorgeous."

* * *

A/N: This is a departure in tone from the first part of a work that's rapidly mutating into something of epic proportions. Revan is mostly back to her old self, and readers will find that my Revan has something of a personality to her. I hope you enjoy the continuing saga of our tired heroes as I run them through yet another gauntlet.

Thanks go out to Solo7MBP, Nat2, Gollo, Myxale, Shadow Chaser, and Bjrn Fallqvist for adding their reviews to Nima Onasi's and Aroseb's! Reviews are the Force that flows through all of us fanfic writers... :)


	20. Punchline

Punchline

Revan

I ninnyhammered about talking to Canderous until the next night, worrying myself over possible approaches to take with him. There's nothing in the Jedi or Sith codes about offering advice to the lovelorn to a friend who didn't ask for it. In fact, I'm pretty sure that offering unsolicited advice is as illegal as personal disruptor cannons in most of the civilized galaxy, and punishable by slow, painful, and creative death elsewhere.

Finally, I decided to take the direct approach. A man who'd ridden a basilisk war droid into a planetary atmosphere deserved nothing less.

I found him in his customary place in the swoop hangar, making repairs to one of the many sets of Mandalorian armor we'd picked up on our adventures. "New joke," I said to him as I walked into the room. "The Sith Lord walks up to the Mandalorian and asks, 'Is your love life as crazy screwed-up as mine?' "

He applied an epoxy solution to the breastplate, aimed a heating tool at the crack, and thumbed the activator. The epoxy melted, spread, and bonded into the crack, making it invisible to the eye. He then set to working out the scar with a buffing tool. "The Mandalorian says to the Sith Lord, 'The body count's not high enough for there to be love involved.' "

I climbed into the swoop and fiddled with the powered-down controls. I missed racing, even though I'd only been halfway decent at it. If I had more time I would have pursued it. But I was slightly better at Pazaak for making credits, and I didn't tend to want to do things the hard way.

"And then the Mandalorian says, 'It's complicated and the Sith Lord doesn't know the whole story.' "

The helmet of the swoop bike was losing some of its inner padding through a small split in one of the seams. I picked at the durafoam bits bleeding out the split. "And then the Sith Lord says back, 'Well, if I didn't have to rely on hearsay from the Twi'lek, maybe I could help.' "

"To which the Mandalorian replied, 'Frag off, Darth Buttinski. And your Twi'lek, too.' "

"They're going to want to split us all up at Yavin 4," I said, dropping the pretense.

"I know," he said, starting to pack away the armor. He could be as fussy as an old woman when it came to Mandalorian armor. I could understand, I guess. That armor signified all that was left of his people. Only the slight reddish tinge at the back of his neck and the tight line of his jaw gave him away.

"How do you feel about that?" I asked.

He pulled out that planet-killer he liked to tote around and began maintenance on it. "Since when do the Jedi start giving out freelance psych services?" He popped out the power cell and checked it for juice, then started cleaning the contacts.

"I'm a purely independent agent acting in my own best interests. I see the way you look at her."

The barrel of that behemoth suddenly swung my way. "Damn you for making me think beyond the next fight," he said harshly. His hands shook.

I used the Force to take the weapon from him. I set it down gently on the floor between us and climbed out of the swoop. "You want a piece of me for this, then you swing," I said quietly. "It feels like you're in free-fall heading towards a gas giant, doesn't it?"

He rose to his feet, movements lithe for all his muscle. "I'm a warrior," he said, sounding not at all sure of that fact. "I don't know what to do with all these--_emotions_." He struggled over the word, sounding disgusted with himself.

"If it's any consolation, there's nothing in the Sith Lord's handbook about it, either."

"She thinks she's damaged. She comes to me because when she beats herself up, it doesn't hurt her enough."

My heart ached for him, though I'd die before admitting it to him. Mostly because I'd die _for _admitting something like that to him. 

"And she's just going to let that bunch of decrepit old wizards decide her fate for her."

"I know," I said. "Thing is, she's spent her entire life doing that very thing. I have to figure out a way to stop her," I said. I looked hard at Canderous. I had my own reasons for wanting to pull Bastila out of whatever she was going through, but I needed to know if they were compatible with his. "Tell me something, warrior to warrior," I said.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" he asked suddenly.

"Not at the moment," I said. "The meeting with the Council is less that two hours away. I'm nervous as hell, and you make a pretty good target."

He picked up the repeater, reassembled it, and set it carefully against the wall. "You wanna talk about feelings?" he asked. "Then you can beat 'em out of me."

Relief swept through me. At last, something familiar. "You're on," I said. "Hand-to-hand, no Force powers. I land a blow, I get a question answered. Make me bleed, and I stop asking 'em."

He cracked his knuckles. "Let's go."

We circled each other. I felt my blood sing in the presence of a worthy opponent. He made the first move, a jab that I easily dodged, but it moved him in close enough to grappling range. I brought my knee up. He blocked it, and the fight began in earnest.

Nothing but grunts and heavy breathing passed between us for ten minutes, then I got lucky because I am small and flexible enough to twist nearly all the way around and bring my leg back into his knee. The crack of cartilage echoed through the room and by unspoken agreement we stopped.

"Why you?" I asked.

"Stupid question, Revan. Onasi wasn't likely to take her up on her offer."

"I mean," I said, in between gasps of air, "beyond the obvious."

He shrugged, releasing his hold on me. We moved back into defensive stances. "She was spoiling for a fight," he said finally.

His booted foot lashed out and swept my legs, knocking me to the ground. I tucked into a roll and dodged out of his reach. The twist and kick would only work once with him, and I couldn't match his superior strength. 

I used my speed instead to move around behind him and used my elbow to jab him in the kidneys. I sacrificed a blow to the side for it that took my breath away. But he acknowledged the shot. "So," I gasped. "Is it--that she's--Bastila, or that she's--willing and--there?"

He dropped into a crouch, recovering from the kidney blow. "When we first met, she was a spoiled little girl. She's been blooded since then. She's an admirable warrior in her own right, if a little raw. The things I admire in her, though..."

"Are the things she hates about herself," I finished for him, digging my hand into my side to cradle the stitch there. "What about what she wants from you?" I coughed and tasted blood. Dammit, I couldn't keep fighting him and I was wasting questions. 

"You haven't earned that question yet."

"Fine." I spun into a roundhouse kick across his jaw. I'm pretty sure I didn't use the Force to do it, I was just fed up with having to work for it. 

He sprawled backwards on the deckplates. "I'll get you for that, you brat."

I dropped down beside him. "One last question," I said around the blood in my mouth. "What about what she wants from you?"

He stared up at the ceiling. "I'm getting tired of cursing you, you know that?" He heaved a tired sigh. "Was a time when it wouldn't matter to me why she was there, only that she was."

I moved my own gaze down to my fingernails. "Men are blessedly uncomplicated that way. Sometimes." Unless they have a too-developed sense of honor and decency. "I should kick you for getting some when I'm not."

"Don't," he said. "It's only what you deserve. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't care that she wants me to punish, not to love."

Still not looking at him, I reached for his hand. "I'm sorry, my friend," I said. "What will you do?"

He rolled to his feet and pulled me up with him. "There's always somebody who needs hired muscle. It's what I'm good at. Switching gears at this point would be ridiculous."

My guts were starting to burn. He looked at me critically. "Go fix yourself," he said curtly. "You're done with me for now."

I shook my head. "My wounds are healing on their own. It's my penance."

"You Jedi and your damned guilt trips," he said.

* * *


	21. Complexities

Complexities

Bastila

Revan's return brought new complications to my regimen of self-abuse. The bond we shared was not as strong as before the events of the Star Forge, but it was still there, bleeding a hole in me that led to the Force I was trying so desperately to avoid.

We left the Rakata homeworld and were instantly barraged with communications from Republic ships. Whatever Dustil, Mission, and Zaalbar had rigged to disguise us seemed to be failing. In my estimation, someone at the Order or the Republic high command had simply put two and two together and finally come up with the right answer.

Our orders were to proceed immediately to Yavin 4, where the Jedi Council would decide our fate. I was relieved that we were returning to the safe haven of the Council. I could be protected in the enclave. Quarantined so that my despair could not pollute others, so that my weakness would not weaken the Order.

But until we reached that safe haven, I fed the darkness inside me with something well-aged, potent, and Mandalorian. As the Ebon Hawk brought us closer to Yavin, I knew my time with Canderous was coming to an end. I did not, however, expect him to be the one to end it.

He was in the swoop hangar, at the workbench, modifying some armor. I recognized the Mandalorian battle armor we had picked up on Kashyyyk. He did not look up.

"Canderous," I said.

He turned slowly. I reached up to pull him down to me.

He held me in his arms, but held me back. "Bastila," he said, his gruff, ashen voice even huskier than usual, "I can't."

I looked up at him, nameless dread taking the fear in my heart and turning it to panic. I never realized before, that his eyes aren't black, but a dark gray, and more expressive than I ever thought possible, betraying a range of emotions that, in my mind, Mandalorians were forbidden to experience.

"I can't be your punisher anymore, Bastila."

It became clear to me then. I am a menace. My arrogance cannot be trusted outside the safety of the Order, where they can control me, keep me from hurting myself or others with my foolishness.

I began to pack my few belongings in the starboard crew quarters. Revan walked into the room as I was nearly complete. "Bastila," she said.

"I am ready to go," I said, with a calm I didn't feel. But as I have said, I have always excelled at maintaining the necessary facade.

"I'm not ready for you to go, yet," she said, sitting down on my bunk, in the middle of my folded clothes. 

I tightened my lips. She still vibrated with an exuberant charisma that I could not comprehend, and resented my own attraction to.

She shifted and pulled out the clothes. "Sorry," she said, re-folding them unevenly. 

For once, I didn't make an issue of it. I merely took the clothing and put it in my pack.

"Do you think you'll miss everyone?" she asked.

"Of course I will," I said coolly. "But I imagine our paths will cross from time to time. If the Force wills it."

"Will you miss Mission?"

"I imagine she will move on to better things. Zaalbar has told me she's received requests for interviews from all the major holovid reporters."

"Will you miss Zaalbar?"

I looked at her, wondering where this was going. "I imagine he'll return to Kashyyyk to lead his people."

"Will you miss Carth?"

"Of course. Commander Onasi is responsible for much of the success of our mission. I've no doubt you noticed." I pulled my lightsaber out of the footlocker beneath the bed.

"I did," she said cheerfully. "And will you miss Canderous?"

The lightsaber clattered to the ground.

"I'm not stupid, Bastila," she said.

"I fail to see what business it is of yours whether or not I miss that Mandalorian."

"I'm not blind, either. But I wonder if you might be." She used the Force to bring my lightsaber to her hand.

"Please leave," I said stiffly. "My affairs are my business. Regardless, the Council dictates my movements from now on."

She rubbed a spot on the saber's metal housing with her sleeve. "Not until you answer one question for me." She folded her legs under her and showed no signs of moving.

"Oh, very well," I said impatiently.

"Why Canderous?"

My back teeth ground together. "I can't answer that," I said.

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine, I will." I shouldered my pack.

She flung out a hand and suddenly the pack became heavy. Too heavy. My limbs refused to move. "It is irresponsible to abuse the Force in such a frivolous manner."

"The Force doesn't seem to mind," she shot back. "In fact, I think it's with me on this one. So answer the question, or I'll do something really embarrassing to you."

"You don't understand," I said. "You are strong. I'm not. I thought I was, but it was proven to me conclusively that I am indeed weak. I cannot be trusted."

"I trust you," she said, echoing her words from the Star Forge. "You did the right thing when it came down to the wire. More than once." She looked at me and the look in her eyes was naked, unguarded. "You saved me once, when you had no reason to. I was a stranger to you, a stranger who had done innumerable wrongs. I was an enemy, and yet you chose to save me. You could have let me die and been morally absolved. But you chose to hold on to the thread of humanity inside a monster." She folded her arms and looked up at me. "You saw something redeemable in me, something that nobody else saw. And that makes me wonder what it is you see in him that nobody else can see."

No one else had described my actions in that exact context and it humbled me. "My intentions were not unselfish," I said. "When Malak said I saved you because I was fascinated by the dark power you wielded, he was not entirely incorrect."

"Malak always had more of a single-minded focus than the average Sith," she said. "I think. And you have never been single-minded." She smiled briefly. "You'd have been a lot easier for me to work with if you had. You're a complex person, Bastila. So give over, what is it about Canderous that you see beneath the surface?"

I avoided her gaze for a long moment and occupied myself with the fastener on my pack. "I'm tainted," I said. "My fall to the dark side altered forever the person I used to be. I am damaged. Scarred." The words poured out of me in a rush, the bond between us allowing her dangerous familiarity with my emotions. "I am polluted, poisoned, unfit for the Jedi Code. I betrayed everyone depending on me. Canderous--I--he would have followed you had I convinced you to join me on the Dark Side."

"I know. It bothers me sometimes," she said. "That he would have just as easily become the right hand of the Sith as the Republic."

I nodded. That very thing had attracted me to him, though. "I can't say why Canderous draws me. I suppose--I can be--tainted when I am with him."

"You were raised by the Order, weren't you?" she asked. At my nod, she nodded, too. "They've done you a terrible injustice," she said, getting off the bunk. "I won't let them get away with that, Bastila."

"Revan, wait!" I said. "Don't do anything disrespectful. Don't--" but she was gone, leaving me wondering about my feelings for Canderous and if they were indeed as complex as she seemed to think I was.

I ached to be off the Hawk and on Yavin 4 already, not because the planet or its orbiting space station held any attraction for me, but the presence of the Council called to me, told me I could run to them and be safe. Protected. From myself.

* * *


	22. Out of the Tower

Out of the Tower

Revan

Juhani, Jolee, Bastila, and I stood before the Jedi Council on Yavin 4. The new Jedi Temple was little more than rough framework and fibermesh stretched between the supports to define spaces. The sounds of construction drifted in from the east, and the sounds of combat from the makeshift practice arena to the west.

Master Vandar regarded me serenely, implacably. "Do with you four, something we must."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him it wasn't his say, but Juhani stepped forward. "Where Revan goes, I gladly and humbly follow."

Master Vandar nodded. "Much you have learned from Revan, Juhani. But worship her, you must not. Shattered illusions lead to the dark side."

"Trust me when I say that Juhani most emphatically does not worship me," I said. "We've had our share of catfights." The joke fell flat, but the Jedi Council was not known for being a responsive audience.

"Nobody will be calling Revan Master while I'm around," Jolee spoke up, his gruff voice wry.

"It is your wish to remain with Revan as well?" Master Vrook asked.

Jolee nodded. "She's not getting rid of me easily."

"Watch out, old man. I still have a thermal detonator around here somewhere."

"See what I mean?" He harrumphed. "She needs guidance."

I shot back. "I'm trying to develop my 'old fart in the Force' skills."

"Cease!" Master Vrook threw up his hands. "The Council never could tell you where to go, Jolee."

"Oh, I can tell him where to go," I muttered.

"Oh, that does it. I've just become your shadow, little girl." Jolee stuck out his grizzled chin and folded his arms. "And there isn't a Force in the galaxy that could keep me from dogging you from now until my bones crumble."

Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. I worried that after the Star Forge, that Jolee would want to return to his hermitage. As cranky as he was, I really did enjoy his company. He had a way of being able to put my own life in perspective without minimizing what I've done. And if there was one thing that I learned out of the Great Plunge with Carth it was that I needed other people. Isolation had driven me to the Star Forge the first time--Malak and I had nobody but each other to check our impulsiveness and as a result, the whole galaxy paid the price, and again to the Rakata homeworld where if I'd just reached out, I could have found my way back without running across the galaxy to do it.

"Bastila, Master Vandar has agreed to return you to the rank of Padawan learner. The Council will assign you a new master after we've deliberated."

I edged towards the Jedi princess. Bastila hunched her shoulders and nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor as she had done for their entire audience. "Yes, Master Vrook," she whispered. "I am the Council's servant."

Juhani squeezed Bastila's hand. "Good luck," the Cathar woman whispered. "The journey back from the Dark Side can be difficult, but it is not impossible."

Bastila nodded, her lips set in a grim line. She stepped closer to me. "I suppose this is our farewell," she said stiffly. "I cannot thank you enough for turning me back to the light. When I meditate on my weakness, I shall remember your strengths." Her eyes flicked to mine before returning to the unadorned plascrete floor. "I--I want you to know that I truly am sorry for what the--for what I put you through, both on the Star Forge and--with your memories."

I remembered the harsh words I said to Bastila aboard the Leviathan and regretted them. The shock of suddenly knowing that Malak had spoken the truth, and that my entire existence as Noura Den Hades to that point had been a lie loosened my tongue too much. "Bastila--"

Bastila turned away. I glanced over to Jolee, whose features seemed to say, _well, are you just going to leave things like this_?

Damn the old man, anyway. He knew better. "Masters," I said, my voice echoing a little too loudly in the makeshift Council chamber. "I am no Master myself, but I will take Bastila as my Padawan."

Vrook's eyes bulged. "Excuse me?"

Bastila's body jerked and she glanced at me with astonishment.

"I believe I've earned the right to request a few indulgences of the Council," I said, an edge creeping into my tone.

Vandar stepped forward. "In the antechamber, we will discuss this."

"Wherever." I followed Vandar and Vrook behind a curtain. Vrook waved his hand and an unnatural-sounding silence descended over us, the Force-powered privacy bubble cutting us off from the goings-on outside the room.

Vandar stepped towards me and looked up. "In this quest, fallen far, Bastila Shan has."

I nodded. "I know a little bit about that."

Vrook stiffened. "The last thing she needs is to be surrounded by temptations to the Dark Side, or reminders of her fall."

"So what--you're going to lock her back up in her tower here instead of on Dantooine?"

"Bastila must find her way back fully to the light. She cannot do so surrounded by darkness."

"Neither can she do so if she's constantly reminded of her fall," I said.

Vandar nodded. "Compare herself to you, she will."

"To me?" I snorted in disbelief. "I don't think so, Masters. You haven't seen Bastila in action." I can't believe I'm saying this. "Anytime she's presented with behavior that's less than absolute perfection and nobility, she's all over it like gadflies on a Bantha's rear end!" Defending Bastila and her pretentious affectations--what was the galaxy coming to? "If she compares herself to me, she comes out smelling like starflowers."

"She needs an environment free of temptation." Vrook colored with the effort of keeping his voice level. Through the Force, I could feel his mounting frustration. _Good_, my inner Sith Lord retorted. Jolee would be pleased to know that the Council weren't all infallible walking examples of the Jedi Code.

"Well, gee, if that's all it takes to keep a Jedi on the straight and narrow, you'd think somebody would've thought of it before now!" I let my own anger loose, just a little bit. Just enough to lend weight to my words. "What Bastila needs is to work out her temptations in the real galaxy, not some ivory tower where nothing can get in." And I--I needed to heal her for my own sake as well as hers.

"Bastila Shan is the Republic's greatest asset in the fight against--"

"She is _not _a weapon!" I exploded. "You wanted a weapon and you got me for that. Stars and planets, but I am _sick _of the way you people manipulate lives as if they were nothing more than--than Pazaak cards in a side deck!"

"From the Dark Side, your words come, Revan," Vandar said warningly.

__

Damn right they do, you little half-chunk, I thought. But I took a deep, meditative breath. "They come from experience as well, Master Vandar," I said, more calmly. "Bastila and I shared a near-physical bond for some time. I know how she thinks, and I know how she feels. She can't even look at you two, she's so consumed with the shame of her fall." I closed my eyes and concentrated on letting the rage drain away. The swamplands of argument suddenly showed me the path I sought. "The Wookiees have this thing called a life-debt. When you save their lives, they swear them to you."

"Certainly no Wookiee is Bastila," Vandar said, a hint of a smile playing around his wizened green lips. "Mortified, she would be, if heard you say that, she did."

"It's not the worst thing I've said to her," I replied, thinking of the times I called her a scrunched-up Kinrath pup. "And anyway, in the state she's in right now, I could shoot her out an airlock in hyperspace and she'd just thank me for being so merciful and forgiving."

"A point you do make," Vandar said thoughtfully.

"Out of the question," Vrook argued. "Bastila's rehabilitation cannot go well in the company of those who hold the lure of the dark side in such casual regard."

"Oh, come on, Master Vrook," I said. "Can you really not see into my heart? I hold it in casual regard because it's so familiar to me. But I take it seriously. I battle the dark side every damn day. Juhani does, too, and so does Jolee. And unlike those under the Council's scrutiny, I don't have the safety net of an ideal environment. My battle takes place out in the real world." I drew myself up and met him, nose to nose. "And I am stronger for it." I said the last without pride, but merely as fact. "Bastila is mine," I said, letting the last of my emotions drain away. "I don't leave one of my own when they're in need." I looked from Vrook to Vandar. The small alien's expression softened, even as Vrook's hardened in stubborn lines. I chose to first address Vandar. "I've been where she is. I can help her find her way out." For Vrook, I had a hard look. "And you've meddled enough in both of our lives already."

I spun on my boot heel and marched out of the room, blasting through the Force bubble like Bantha butter. Juhani and Jolee waited, Jolee raising eyebrows at my pace. Bastila knelt in the middle of the floor, imitating a meditative pose I knew was a load of Bantha poo-doo. "Bastila," I said. "You're with me. Come on, you two," I said to the Cathar woman and the old man. "Let's go home to the _Hawk_."

Bastila rose, her cloudy eyes searching the room and coming to rest on the two masters emerging from the anteroom.

Vandar spoke, while Vrook stood stiffly. "With your Jedi sister go you, Bastila Shan. Heed the lesson you have learned from your fall."

Bastila bowed. "Thank you, Master."

I reached for Bastila's hand.

"What did you say to them, Revan?" Bastila asked. "I hope you didn't offend them."

I ignored Jolee's derisive snort. "I did." I shrugged. "They'll get over it."

"What did you tell them?" Juhani asked.

I smiled. "I just told them I'm keeping her."

* * *


	23. Opportunity

Opportunity

Canderous

The doors of the makeshift Jedi enclave were locked to us. Carth glowered at the closed portals and for once, we were in complete agreement.

He had an advantage over me, though I would never admit it. Revan could hold her own with the Jedi Council. Revan loved him. Two advantages.

I should have already been headed for the trading station with gear I could hock for credits, and to the cantina to find the local Hutt in charge of bounties and petty loan-sharking. Instead, I skulked around the Jedi enclave like a pathetic sycophant, waiting to have my fate decided for me by the wizards on high. Mandalore would be shamed. I put my hand on my blaster, begging for an excuse to slag the doors.

Carth leaned against the wall and thumped one booted heel against it, the hollow echo underscoring the temporary nature of the facility.

"This is useless," he said abruptly, and pushed away from the wall. "I'm going to the cantina. You coming with?"

I shrugged. "Anything's better than standing around here."

"They can take care of themselves," he said as we started down the narrow scaffolding that served as a walkway between the construction of the new Jedi Enclave and the support facilities that sprung up around it. It had only been a few weeks since the destruction of the enclave on Dantooine, but already the cantina did a brisk business. A small Republic garrison had been set up to assist the Jedi and Republic soldiers clustered in knots around the skeletons of support service buildings. 

Dustil Onasi was somewhere in the Republic garrison, having said something about reporting in to his commanding officer. Almost as soon as the military moved in, the hangers-on did the same, and Mission and Zaalbar declared their intent to go exploring. I didn't worry about the little blue Twi'lek--she could hold her own in worse places than this shantytown, and anything she couldn't handle, the Wookiee could.

That left me stuck with Onasi, the pair of us waiting like old women while the Jedi Council decided the fate of half our comrades. The inside of the cantina was cool and dark, and my eyes took a moment to adjust. A Rodian stood behind the bar, polishing a glass and mimicking the actions of bartenders throughout the galaxy. I led the way to the bar, uninterested in the Twi'lek girls working the tables. Anywhere an army springs up, camp followers appear faster than a Gamorrean after a barbecued womp rat.

The Rodian sauntered over to us. Carth held up his credit chip. "What'll you have?"

"I'd kill for a Tarisian ale, but the price has probably gone up higher than a solar flare. What's the local piss?"

Carth raised an eyebrow at the Rodian.

"Moss ale good to drink," the Rodian said in Basic.

I nodded. "Two," Carth said, and turned around to survey the room. All manner of space trash occupied the tables and booths, the Twi'lek working girls dancing for a credit chip waved their way, stopping to talk when a bigger chip appeared.

A big, scarred Trandoshan held court in one corner. From the accessories of his entourage, he was likely the biggest shark in this little backwater. It'd be a few more months before any Hutts found their way here. A handful of male Twi'leks were scattered at the tables, but the looks they shared, and the way their lekku waved towards each other told me they were part of the same team, and the Trandoshan looked like the only team captain around.

A pretty green Twi'lek walked close by our seats with an appreciative glance in Carth's direction. Boy Wonder failed to notice her and she turned her eyes to me. I folded my bare arms in front of me, leaning slightly so that she couldn't miss the Mandalorian clan tattoo on my left bicep.

Fear flashed in her eyes and her inviting smile faltered. Nice to know I still have the touch.

"I'm Sinya," she said. Her voice trembled. Her eyes kept flicking to Carth, who suddenly found the holovids fascinating. Resigned to having me as her mark, she edged towards me, looking like she wanted to run. 

I held up a fat credit chip. "Sit down and talk to me, and I'll make it worth your while."

She paled and swallowed. "Would you not rather I dance for you?" _Way over there_, her body language added.

"There's only one thing I want from you." Her look of horror made me smile. Finally, a woman with enough sense to be afraid of the monster I can be. "I want information, sister. So if you want your money, you'll tell me who that Trandoshan is over there."

She sat down gingerly. "That is Sadeet. No one who leaves the settlement without his protection returns."

I raised my eyebrows. That sounded like a challenge to me. "What about the Republic army? I'd imagine they go where they please."

"Sadeet knows the jungle canyons better than anyone. Without his men as guides, chances for survival are slim."

"What's in those jungles that makes them so dangerous?" The Trandoshan sounded like a small-time thug, and after Davik Kang, I was done with small-time thugs. But those canyons...being a guide through dangerous territory sounded like something more than killing for some petty thug. A challenge.

Sinya folded her hands. "The canyons are full of predators. They are evil places, riddled with caves and ruins. Yet foolish adventurers persist in exploring them." She shook her head, her oiled head-tails shimmering. "The final defeat of Exar Kun wiped out the very jungle itself. Now that the jungles have grown back, there are always the idiots who believe the treasures have grown back as well."

Next to me, Carth muttered, "Why do I get the feeling we're going to end up in those jungles?"

I elbowed him and took a swig of my ale. It was raw and burned all the way down. In about two years, it would be potable. Right now--I made a face. But I held up my hand for another. "How do you get to these jungle canyons?"

"You don't, not without a pass outside the settlement. Unless you're a Republic soldier or one of Sadeet's guides. For a while they were letting people come and go at will--well, go, anyway. Without a guide, you don't come back."

The dim cantina brightened suddenly as the door opened, then dimmed just as suddenly when a tall, solid, furred figure filled it. I automatically looked behind him for his shadow, but there was none. I tensed.

[She's gone!] Zaalbar bellowed.

The twi'lek males rose as one, as did the Trandoshan's entourage. Hands reached for blasters and my own went for my weapon.

Carth was off the chair like a shot. "Zaalbar, my peace-loving friend," he said loudly. I shook my head. That would only make it worse.

The twi'leks moved in a semi-circle between Zaalbar and us. The Wookiee gesticulated wildly, and half a dozen blasters followed his hands.

"No trouble! No trouble!" The Rodian behind the bar shouted. "Slave not allowed in here without owner!"

I pulled out my repeater. "That was a mistake," I muttered.

Zaalbar brought his furry arms up and shook his fists at the Rodian. [I am no slave, bug-eyed scum!]

Twi'lek hands pulled blasters into position. "Dammit," Carth said.

"Hell, yeah," I said. Just the opportunity I'd been waiting for. I brought the repeater up to aiming level. Sinya screeched and dived under a table.

Now ordinarily, by the time her head-tails disappeared under the table, I would have already been firing. This time, though, something stopped me. Maybe it was the proximity of the Jedi and their nonviolent tendencies, or maybe all the times I'd been with Revan in the cantinas of the worlds we'd visited, watching her charm the slime off a hutt. Or freeze his drool with one of her cool, "I'm dangerous" stares.

Or maybe it was the perverse need to prove that I was something more than the violent brute that Bastila sought out for punishment and absolution. I chose to talk instead. "Anybody has a problem with the Wookiee, and they have a problem with me." At least my words were battle-worthy, if my actions weren't.

The Twi'leks turned to face me, shooting glances at the Trandoshan. He uttered a sibilant snarl. 

Carth was suddenly at my shoulder. "Let's all be friends. I'd hate for the only permanent building in this settlement to come down around our ears."

Zaalbar bellowed again. [We don't have time for this!]

The smell of singed Wookiee fur filled the air as a blaster went off. "Hell," Carth muttered. I agreed. So much for nonagression.

The Twi'leks began to fire at Zaalbar. He took two of them out with one sweep of his massive, furred arm, and I brought the repeater to bear on the second two.

Two of the Trandoshan's bodyguards dropped from Carth's twin blasters and Zaalbar brought his killer arm down on the last Twi'lek's head. Behind me, I felt a breeze, at the same time Carth yelled, "Run!"

I turned to see a good dozen reinforcements spilling out of a side doorway. "We can take 'em," I said.

"Forget them," Carth said, grabbing the back of my vest. And here I thought he'd given up his death wish. But his next words kept me from doing anything he'd regret. "Didn't you hear what Z said? Mission's gone!"

If the Wookiee couldn't handle Mission's trouble, then it sounded like she needed a Mandalorian. "Back way," I said. I followed Carth and Zaalbar to the rear of the cantina at a dead run. 

We ended in a blind alley littered with garbage. Behind us, I could hear the sound of too many feet coming closer. Zaalbar warbled and pointed to the wall.

Carth yelled. "What the hell are you talking a--_ha_!"

I followed the furred arm that pointed to the city wall, where a breach had crumbled the plascrete. It was half hidden by vines, but looked barely big enough for us. "How the hell are we supposed to fit through that?"

For an answer, Zaalbar balled his fist up and slammed it into the crumbling plascrete. The hole widened.

"Much better," Carth said, and dived through the hole. 

The Wookiee motioned me to go next. I shook my head. "I got your back, hairball."

Two Rodians and a Twi'lek spilled out of the back doorway and I took great pleasure in bringing my repeater to bear and picking them off one by one. I could've stood there all day and watched the bodies pile up, but a big, furry paw grabbed my vest and pulled me backwards through the breach and into the jungle.

* * *


	24. Espionage

Espionage

Mission

__

This is starting to really suck kinrath eggs, Mission thought after she had to tell the fourth loser spacer that no, she was not looking for "a little fun" and while she prided herself on her lekku, she was not interested in being anyone's "piece of tails." Yeesh, you'd think that Big Z's presence would have sent the loutish spacers running, but they seemed, to a man, to think the Wookiee was actually a bodyguard in service to whoever owned her!

Finally fed up to there with bantha-breathed come-ons, she ducked into an alley near the back of the Republic garrison. At least here, the presence of Republic soldiers might be able to disinfect the area of the slimier types of walking parasites. "Yeesh," she said to Big Z.

[There do not appear to be many females in this port,] he warbled back at her.

"Gah! So why does that have to be _my _problem?" She leaned against the wall. "Okay, so, what have we learned so far?"

[Besides the appeal a young, blue, Twi'lek girl has for desperate spacers?]

She reached up and thumped him on the shoulder. "Carpet," she said without rancor.

[We have learned that the jungles are not a fit place for travelers, and that there is no decent place to eat.]

She reached into her pack and pulled out a snack packet. "Here." It was one of the packets she and Dustil had snitched from the _Stella Arcos_'s supply room.

They had parted ways with Dustil at the entrance to the Republic garrison. He had to report his whereabouts to his superiors, even when he was technically on furlough, in case they needed to summon him back to duty, he said. 

She and Big Z had found a secondhand junk trader and traded some of their repair parts and homemade security spikes for information and credits. She carried in her pack a medpac with antidotes for the jungle malaises that tended to strike. The trader had been more forthcoming with his information after Big Z cracked his knuckles a few times. A pair of Mandalorian restraints in his possession for ages had suddenly found a home with the Republic captain. "Those Sith prisoners they have must be pretty powerful if the Republic thinks stasis cells with force fields can't hold 'em," he said. "I hear one of 'em's some kind of Sith sorcerer--one of Lord Malak's Inner Circle."

"It can't be Darth Bandon," she said to Big Z after they left the trader. "Since he bit the big one on your homeworld."

[I have no doubt that there were many apprentices of Darth Bandon's skill and stature,] Zaalbar woofed. [Each one waiting for the others to make a fatal mistake.]

Mission shivered in spite of the humidity. She couldn't comprehend living life like that, in competition with other people, rather than seeking out ways to work together. It just wasn't natural. People were meant to be together--even someone as powerful as Revan needed her friends. Mission hoped the Jedi Council would see that.

She sank to the ground and Big Z followed her. A set of neatly stacked plasteel cylinder crates provided a nice bit of shade, but the humidity was starting to make her head hurt. The general store clerk had informed her that all-weather cloaks, with their built-in air conditioning and ambient humidity control were the first things he sold out of. Poor Z was a lot worse off with his shaggy pelt than she was.

She was fishing in her pack for water when movement at the other end of the alleyway caught her eye. A figure slipped furtively into the alley. His black and red uniform stood out in its understatement among the red and gold of the average Republic enlisted. She was about to call out to Dustil when he slipped out of his uniform jacket and slung a voluminous cloak over his shoulders, drawing up the hood.

She shared a glance with Z and turned to see Dustil pull a security spike--one of _hers_!--from his sleeve and insert it into the control panel next to the side door of the Republic building. As he returned the security spike back to his pocket, she saw a flash of blue at his waist. Her eyes widened as she recognized the circular Sith Academy medallion. "Wait here," she said in a bare whisper to Big Z. "I'm going to find out what that little sneak is up to."

Z whined softly.

"I'll be fine. I'll be in the middle of the Republic garrison."

She activated her stealth unit and darted up to the doorway, slipping in just as it closed behind Dustil.

She hung back about three meters, keeping her thoughts focused on being invisible, even though her stealth unit had sound dampeners. She followed Dustil down the brightly lit corridors until he reached a door that was unique in the lack of lighting surrounding it. He pulled another one of her security spikes from his pocket--again, she saw the Sith medallion at his waist--and popped the lock on the door.

The door slid open to reveal two stasis cells, both occupied by blurry figures in the gray and black garb of the Sith. One, a female, wore dark robes, while the other wore a uniform.

Dustil deactivated the neural collars on the prisoners and they stuttered awake.

"What do you want?" The woman demanded, her haughty Sith accent chilling the very air in the room.

"Nothing more than to help," replied Dustil, flicking his cloak aside to reveal the Sith Medallion at his waist.

"Excellent," the woman purred. "Get me out of these, and you'll be well rewarded." The Mandalorian restraints encircled her wrists. Dustil searched for and located a key to the cuffs, and after deactivating the stasis fields, unlocked the woman's cuffs.

Her companion shook his head. He looked like a military type, the kind that had swarmed all over Taris. "Now we can continue our work."

"I can get you out of the settlement," Dustil said. "Discreetly."

"Why discreetly, when I can have my vengeance on those Republic animals who kept me chained for weeks?" The Sith Witch--because in Mission's estimation, the woman was no Jedi if she hadn't already sensed her presence--said.

"The place is crawling with Jedi," Dustil said. "They're building a new enclave. Go out with blasters blazing and you'll be overwhelmed with Jedi. Come with me and you can escape and continue your work for the Sith Empire. Better make your decision fast."

The woman stepped off the deactivated cell pad. Dustil pulled another cloak out of his pack and swirled it around her shoulders. The black-haired woman reached up to stroke his cheek. "You will be rewarded well, young apprentice."

"I'm no apprentice," Dustil said. 

"Freeing Xartha Tek will earn you enough prestige with your masters to pass the apprentice trials a hundred times over. I shall see to it personally."

Dustil bowed. "Thank you, my lady." He offered her a slow, seductive smile.

"Come, Traynian," she said to her companion. Dustil tossed him a cloak and the three hooded figures began to walk towards the door, where Mission crouched in her stealth unit, hands fisted until her knuckles were pale cyan.

That little sneak! That traitor! Her stomachs clenched in knots. How dare he betray the Republic like this? How could he betray his father?

She felt sick. _I hate being right_, she thought miserably. _You can't take the poison out of the kinrath_.

She followed the trio as they made their furtive way down to the lower levels of the base and out of a garage portal into a tunnel that led to a sewer. As she walked behind them, she made up her mind to do whatever she could to foil their plans. Or at least make Dustil Onasi pay for his betrayal.

And he smiled at her and told her she was beautiful. _I hate you_, she thought. _I hate you for making me let down my guard_.

They emerged into the dim light of an alley behind the cantina. The smell of rotting food garbage reeked and made her eyes water. Her muscles ached from moving slowly under the stealth field, and from tension. How could she tell Carth that his son was a traitor? Even with Revan around to stabilize him, this new loss of his son might just do him in.

"--anything else I can--do?" Dustil was asking. "To help you on your quest."

"You have done well, young one," Xartha said. "But we no longer require you."

"I have Republic clearance," Dustil said. "Let me help you."

The two Sith shared a look. Dustil pressed on. "At least tell me what you're doing here?"

"Nothing that need concern you," Xartha said.

"If you wish to help," Traynian said, "Send a message to Admiral Vage, aboard the _Juggernaut_, of our escape."

Mission committed the names to memory so she could report them back to--whom? Maybe the Jedi would listen to her.

"Yes, sir," Dustil said, offering a Sith salute. "You can get in and out of the settlement through here." He wedged himself in between the wall of the city settlement and a tall stack of battered plasteel cylinders that oozed brownish-green bracken and pushed them aside, revealing a small hole in the plascrete. Vines snaked tendrils through the hole, and evidence of recent and frequent patches of the wall, popped out by the persistent vines, littered the ground.

"You have done well," the Sith woman said again. _Doesn't she have anything more interesting to say_, Mission thought hatefully. "You have served the Sith most loyally," she continued. "Await us at these coordinates," she read off coordinates and Dustil nodded. "And we shall take you to our master."

__

You dirty snake, she thought furiously. _Traitor, liar, rotten little_--

But Dustil and the others were slipping out the breach in the city wall. She waited until they were through, then picked up a rock and scratched a symbol onto the wall. If Z came by here, he would see it and recognize her mark. If he thought to come here.

But she couldn't afford to go back for him. She could lose Dustil and the Sith, and she wouldn't let that dirty little womp-rat get away with betraying them.

With a last glance back at the settlement, she slithered through the wall breach and crept after Dustil the Traitor.

* * *


	25. Cross Purposes

Cross Purposes

Dustil

He clasped the hands of the two Sith escapees and wished them well, then made his way a little west of their position, as if to journey to the coordinates Xartha gave him. Then he stopped and gathered his concentration. _I'm not here, I'm not here_, he chanted in his mind over and over. Xartha's comment about his becoming an apprentice bothered him. She might be an acolyte of the dark sorceries of the Sith, but she sure didn't know her hierarchies. Dark Jedi took apprentices, and those apprentices needed to be Force-sensitive, and nobody had ever told him he had enough of the Force in him to be worth anything.

Once again, the bothersome feeling he got around the Jedi on the Ebon Hawk returned to him. _I will be like them_. The thought felt different. Alien. He dismissed it as his guilt talking. _Someday, I won't have to lie anymore, that's all_.

When he felt calm enough, he began tracking the two Sith through the jungle overgrowth. They seemed to be following a faint track, nearly overgrown, and only recognizable by the occasional crumbling marker easily mistaken for a rotted, vine-choked stump.

Not a natural tracker, he followed them by instinct, extending his combat senses as far as they would go. He could almost feel their presences, dark forms with darker intent and--

Something was behind him. He whirled, but the jungle remained a green wall. Fat, jewel-carapaced dragonflies flitted from the foliage, small birds and lizards flitted or scuttled from branch to vine and back. The feeling persisted. The life around him was busy, leaves waving, animals twitching, of course he was being watched, he was being watched by everything in this jungle with avid, predatory interest.

He turned back around and looked without seeing. Jungle life seethed around him, all except for right...there.

His hand shot out and he lunged. The thick air around him suddenly provided more resistance than even the jungle humidity ought to. And it said "oof!"

The stealth emitter flickered and his stomach dropped out the bottom of his feet.

Mission Vao doubled over and looked at him with accusing eyes. "How could you?" she said. "You're betraying everything your father believes in and fights for!"

"Mission, you don't understand," he said, keeping his voice low, mindful of the Sith up ahead.

"I understand enough," she said harshly. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion, and ambition," she quoted the Sith code. 

"Shh," he said. "They'll hear us and we'll both be dead."

"They'd turn on you in a heartbeat and you still choose them over us," she said incredulously. She stepped closer to him and pushed her hands into his chest. "You traitorous little punk!"

"I--you don't understand," he repeated, grabbing her wrists to keep her from pummeling him any more. This wasn't going well and she was getting loud. 

"I understand you're a traitor," she said. 

"Will you _shut up_," he hissed.

"Why, so your 'friends' can--"

He had no free hands, and no other way to shut her up. So he did what whatever it took. He always did whatever it took to meet the objective. It was his nature.

He kissed her.

She broke away, her jaw working soundlessly. She fumbled a little hold-out blaster from a thigh holster and aimed it at him. Tears welled in her bright eyes. "I--you--" She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

Dustil reached out with everything in his being. _No!_ he thought. _I can't let her do this, she doesn't understand, and I don't have time for an explanation._

He opened his eyes to find nothing had happened. Mission was frozen, her fingers on the trigger of the blaster, but the blaster was frozen, too. His eyes widened. _I did that. Oh, crap, I did that_. _What did I just _do_?_

He moved up cautiously and took the blaster from her hand. He set it gingerly down on a flat-topped stump nearby, the barrel pointing away from her. He took her unresisting body in his arms and laid her down gently, covering her with his cloak. _Please understand_, he thought miserably. She looked just like a sad, blue princess, lying there wrapped in his cloak. The tracks of tears were still wet on her cheeks.

Fate and circumstance had decreed that he would never be free of the Sith. And explanations only made things worse. _I'm sorry, Mission_, he thought, before moving off into the jungle depths.


	26. Prices

A/N: I've taken some liberties with Yavin 4, and probably taken some liberties with the way the Force works, too.  I plead poetic license.

Reviewer Thanks:  Special thanks go out to all my reviewers!  Myxale, you do me honor with your praise.  Gollo and Nima – Carth's tattoo will get attention in due time. eg  Aroseb, a review that makes me feel that good will never be useless. g Bjrn Fallqvist, Shadow Chaser, WysdomsGirl, and Akasha15, a thousand thanks.  Nat2, it's a testament to the characters and the great job that Bioware and Lucasarts did with the game that keeps me so productive.

Reviews are the bantha-steaks of hapless fanficcers, so please review, and help us eat our vegetables!

Prices

Bastila

So Revan declared to the Council that she was keeping me.  And they let her get away with it.  Once again, I must marvel at the way she blazes her path through the galaxy.  Only Revan.  Our relationship has always been strained, but I never thought she hated me.  Hatred leads to the dark side.

To keep me from safe haven with the Council is a cruel thing.  And yet she reached for my hand, as if we are sisters.  I took her hand in spite of myself, fear making me reach out for whatever I can grasp to keep me from floundering, rudderless.

We hadn't made it out of the council chambers before an apprentice rushed in, nearly knocking Jolee off his feet.  "Masters," the young man shouted.  "The garrison!  The Sith.  There's been a breach!  The prisoners are gone!"

The Sith?  Cold dread filled me.  Beside me, Revan dropped my hand and reached for her lightsaber.  "Where," she said, her voice deadly flat.

The young man stuttered.  "The Republic was holding two Sith prisoners.  They escaped somehow."

"Two prisoners?"  Revan relaxed.  "You make it sound as if we're being invaded."

Master Vandar conversed with the young man.  After a low-voiced conversation, he nodded to Master Vrook, who smiled toothily at Revan.  "It appears that you've won Bastila from us, but not without a price."

Master Vandar threw Master Vrook a look.  "Right, Master Vrook is.  Evil there is, here.  A test of your abilities this will be."

Revan's stance became offensive.  "Haven't you tested me enough?  I've about had it with jumping through the Council's hoops already."

"A test this will be, of your abilities to mentor," Master Vandar said.  "Prove yourself right, you will, if prospers your Padawan Bastila in the face of the darkness here."

Revan's frown cleared and she relaxed.  "You're a canny little gremlin," she said, clipping her lightsaber back on her belt.

"Without being so, a Jedi Master, one does not become."  Vandar's mouth curved upwards in a small smile.  

I failed to appreciate the humor in the situation.  "I am not ready," I whispered to no one in particular.

"Fine, we'll do your clean-up job," Revan said.  "I think we can handle a few renegade Sith."

"Underestimate them not," Master Vandar cautioned.

"Oh, I won't, Master," Revan said.  "If that's all?"

Master Vrook spoke.  The hollow tone of his voice sent a disturbed chill through me.  "The Dark Side braids itself in knots through past and present.  It will call the darkness that we all battle.  Be wary of its pull."

"That sounded like a prophecy," Revan said.  

Master Vrook blinked rapidly, speechless, while Master Vandar nodded.  "Through Master Vrook, the Force itself speaks."

"Fine."  Revan nodded and bowed to them.  She turned to us.  "Let's get this done."

I bowed to the Council, and followed her out of the Council's chambers.  I stayed my tongue until we exited the Jedi Enclave, then turned on Revan.  "Why did you not let me return to the Council?"

She smiled faintly.  "Once you begged to be my apprentice.  Do you remember?"

How could I forget my shame?  She didn't wait for my answer.  "You trusted me to destroy your humanity."  Her smile turned bitter.  "Now I'm asking you to trust me to help you get it back."  She led us down the humid walkway.  "We need to round up the troops and get on our way."

I have always believed I understood why the Sith followed Revan--her aura of power pulled them in with an almost gravitic force.  The power was intoxicating.  Even to myself, as a Jedi sent to strike her down.  Now I saw what had inspired the Republic fleet and young Jedi to follow her to fight the Mandalorians.  The plainspoken, almost prophetic wisdom that inspired her words appealed to the most intellectual of strategists, and the simplest of ground troops.

Blaster fire erupted from the cantina at the far end of the settlement.  Revan smiled.  "That'll be our boys," she said, breaking into a run.

She never waited for my answer or acknowledgment, simply assumed I would trust her when she asked it.  And I found myself trotting after her, next to Juhani.  Even Jolee kept pace with her, moaning all the time about his aching joints.

The cantina was a disaster area, tables upended, blaster fire marks on the walls, and the bartender cowering behind the bar.  A Trandoshan held court, surrounded by wary bodyguards.  Our friends were nowhere in sight.

It is a sign of my mental state that I was most concerned about Canderous.

* * *


	27. Deadspots

Deadspots

Revan

The bartender was most helpful.  A Republic man, a Mandalorian, and a Wookie all in the bar.  Another joke opener, only this one was personal.  "They go out back way.  You friends?"

"Maybe," I said.

"Then you pay tab."

I rolled my eyes and flipped a credit chip his way.  "For your trouble."

"Sadeet think they go into jungle.  No guide in jungle, no come back from there.  And Sadeet only guide dealer around.  Your friends good as dead."

"Don't underestimate them," I said, flicking my robe aside to reveal the lightsaber.

The Rodian shook his head.  "Jedi die in that jungle, too.  Sometimes more faster."

We left the cantina and stood in the back alley, the way the Rodian pointed.  "Well, at least we know where three of them are.  And I expect the fourth one's there, too."

"And what about that spawn of Carth's?" Jolee asked, scratching his grizzled beard.

"We left him in the Republic garrison--oh, hell," I said.  "Can we find them in the Force?"

"Not here," Juhani said.  "We must be in a place of calm."

Bastila looked panicked at my mention of the Force.  I knew then that my fight to keep her with me was the right path.  The shell-shock and combat paralysis that gripped her reminded me of my own so very recent journey into that particular sarlacc pit.  The Council would coddle her, wrap her in their protective insulation until her own self grew so weak and dependent that she'd lose all independent initiative.  She needed what I had needed--to be stripped of all that surrounded her except herself.  Even me.  Helping her through this would not be an easy task.  But I love a challenge.

"Let's at least get out of the settlement.  The danger there only comes from predators," I said.

We approached the gate leading to the jungle and were stopped by a garrison guard.  "Authorization docs, please."

I waved my hand.  "Jedi business, soldier."

He nodded.  "Jedi business.  Pass through."  He then shrugged.  "It's your funeral."  I got the feeling I hadn't actually dominated his mind so much as convinced him I wasn't worth caring about.

We stepped out into the lush jungle undergrowth.  A green track led away fromt the settlement walls.  It was more of a stomped-out area that narrowed down into an animal path through a line of thick green that stretched as far as I could see.  "Okay," I said, "let's try to rally the troops."

Bastila shook her head.  "I cannot."  Through the Force-bond that remained between us, I could feel her seize in panic. 

I sighed.  "Let's just scout around the outside of the settlement for the time being--look for clues."  As we walked, I tried to reach out to her through the Force.  The life surrounding us made it easy to extend, but not so easy to find.  She was good.

I remembered when she first described our bond.  "An almost-physical bond," she called it, her pale and elegant hands resting on the table in the Ebon Hawk's common area next to my own rough and callused ones.  "We should explore it further here on Dantooine.  The Council would be most interested."

"I think I speak for every male in this enclave when I say we'd all be most interested in seeing you explore it further.  Especially if you let us watch."  Canderous said from his position propping up the wall next to the caffa dispenser.

Bastila's cheeks ignited.  I balled up a wad of Mission's protein-snack wrappers and flicked it at Canderous.  "Pervert."

"Just voicing popular opinion," he said.

I looked over at Carth to find him biting his lip and turning red.  He wouldn't meet my eyes.  "You're right there with him, aren't you?"  I tried to keep the outrage in my voice, for Bastila's benefit as she'd gone a lovely shade of purple that a Twi'lek dancer would envy.  What I really wanted to do was needle Carth in the worst way, tease him until he begged for mercy on bended knee, but Bastila was hyperventilating as it was.

I began to understand her then.  Where the Jedi had taught her Force skills to rival the Masters themselves, they had neglected to teach her anything about people, about reading them, interacting with them.  _I'll never be a Jedi like that_, I thought then, using the Force to replace common sense and people skills, instead of augmenting them.

I tossed her a commlink.  "See if you can raise them discreetly.  In case they're hidden."  She thumbed the commlink and had opened her mouth to speak when the roar of a Wookie could be heard echoing through the undergrowth to the west.

A flock of small birds took flight and the screams of small animals suddenly increased in pitch.

"Who needs commlinks with a Wookiee?" Jolee said.  As one, we began to run towards the sound.  Juhani used waves of the Force to clear our path until the rusty orange of Carth's jacket shone through the green.

The relief I felt on seeing him alive and well surprised me.  But it drained at his gray expression.  Canderous was kneeling on the ground with Zaalbar, bent over a body on the ground.  I saw azure blue skin and feared the worst.

Beside me, Juhani said what we were all thinking.  "Oh, no."

I ran towards them, skidding on leaves and tripping over vines in my haste.  My Jedi calm deserted me.

Canderous was in the middle of injecting her with a stimulant.  "She's alive," he said.  Zaalbar cradled her head and moaned.  "Come on, Little Blue, wake up."

I reached out with the Force, feeling the rush of verdant life around me.  To it, I added the cool-water flow of healing.  Renewed energy flowed through and around us, filling the small hacked-out clearing we were in, but--

"There's a dead spot around her," Jolee stated the obvious.

Juhani knelt down.  "I have seen power like this--used it in my darkness to halt or slow my opponents.  But I never mastered the power to freeze someone completely like this."

I looked to Bastila.  "Is this some sort of stasis field?"

My crippled, shell-shocked Jedi sister shook her head.  "The stasis of the Force does not render such a--a lifeless appearance."

"Let me reach out to her," Juhani said.  She sank to her knees and took Mission's hand.  I gathered my own Force essence and sent strength to her, and felt Jolee doing the same.

I felt the Cathar woman slip deep into communion with the Force.

And then, just as suddenly, she was gone.

* * *


	28. Presence of Evil

Presence of Evil

Bastila

Stepping into that jungle took more courage for me than facing Lord Malak on the Leviathan.  Revan, Juhani, and Jolee--could they not feel the presence of evil, thick and choking as the vines that hung from the trees?  Yet I said nothing--I could not explain my feeling.  It did not come from the Force, as I was disconnected from it by my own will.

I did not lend them my own strength when Juhani went into communion with the Force to find Mission's presence.  And fear ruled me once again as they collapsed as one onto the jungle floor.

"Revan!" Carth's anguished cry filled the air.  He darted over to her limp form and cradled her head in his arms.  He looked up at me.  "What's happened to them?"

Canderous felt for a pulse on Jolee's neck.  "They're not dead."  He tossed a medpac to Carth.  "Shoot her up with an adrenal stim."

Carth went to work.  I fought off my paralysis and crouched by Juhani.  "She's cold."

Canderous nodded. "Like Mission.  What happened here, Princess?"

"I--I don't know."

"Why weren't you affected?"

"I have cut myself from the Force," I said curtly.  "I cannot be trusted to use it wisely."

"Well, you're going to have to," Carth said.  Zaalbar warbled in agreement.

"This place is evil," I said abruptly, aware that they wouldn't require Force-specific explanations as would other Jedi.  I used a hypospray to inject Juhani with stimulant, and her heart rate returned to an acceptable range.

"I'm inclined to agree," Carth said.  He took out his commlink.  "Carth to the Ebon Hawk.  HK, I'm sending you coordinates.  Meet us out here immediately."

"And bring lots of firepower," Canderous said.

"Query: Where is the Master?"  HK's voice came back over the comm.

"She's indisposed at the moment.  Get your tinbucket can moving, and bring us armor."

Canderous turned to me.  "Keep an eye on Mission."  He rummaged through his pack and pulled out another medkit.  "If her pulse drops again, shoot her up with another stim."

"Oh hell, oh--no, please!"  Carth said frantically.  In his arms, Revan had begun to convulse.  Her eyes rolled back in her head, her spine arched and her body contorted into a twisted, pained arch.

"Kolto!" I said, tossing him a hypo-injector.  He fumbled and dropped it.

Juhani began to similarly convulse.  Canderous swore as Jolee did the same.  I pulled kolto from the medpacs scattered on the jungle floor around her.  I didn't need to be touching the Force to understand the physical reactions of the three Jedi were merely manifestations of something more Force-related.

"We can't keep doing this," Canderous said, as Jolee's convulsions quieted.  Similarly, I felt Juhani's vitals plummet and reached for the stims again.  "Can't you do something to help them?" he said, setting Jolee down on the ground and searching through the scattered medpacs around me.

"Touch the Force?  In this evil place?  Are you mad?"  When the very air seethed around me, eager and hungry.

A distant crash echoed through the jungle valley, followed by the whir of well-oiled servos.  HK arrived a few moments later, loaded with packs of equipment.  I found muscle relaxant in the advanced medpacs when Juhani's convulsions renewed.

I was busy injecting the Cathari woman and torturing myself over my inability to act when Carth let out an anguished moan.

I looked over to see that Revan's eyes had opened.  They were milky white and unseeing and I remembered staring into those same eyes, clouded with evil, aboard the Sith flagship.  Bloody foam frothed at the corners of her lips.  My insides went cold as those unseeing eyes pinned me.  "Do--not--let--escape--_Bastila_!"

"No--no!  Bastila, help me," Carth pleaded.  He looked up at me as Revan's body seized again.  "I can't lose her.  Not like this."

My throat closed. In time, perhaps, and with much supervision, starting very slowly and re-learning everything I'd learned since childhood, I could have once again touched the Force.  What he was asking me--

Canderous' large hands clamped down on my shoulders.

He turned me to face him.  His craggy features were implacable.  "Do something," he ordered.  "_Now_.  You're the only one who can."

"Statement: Failure to preserve the master's life will result in the elimination of failsafes in my programming."

"What the hell?" Canderous grunted.

HK's tone turned flat.  "Interpretation: Grief will cause me to begin shooting up meatbags with extreme prejudice."

"Just great," Canderous muttered.  "Come on, Princess."

Carth looked at me through bleak eyes.  "Doing nothing can be just as evil as doing the wrong thing," he said hoarsely.

I could not be trusted to use the Force with impunity, but the greater evil would be to fail my friends without trying.  Perhaps a controlled effort--

I sank to the ground, leaning against Canderous as a crutch.  I held onto Juhani's cold hands and opened a door inside myself.  

Touching the Force felt like performing a half-forgotten dance--my subconscious knew the movements, but my conscious mind remained bewildered.  I dipped a toe into strange and yet familiar waters and nearly got swept away by the rapids.  My only defense against being overwhelmed is that I made myself small, small as a mouse, so that my presence in the Force would create barely a ripple.

The normally cool, clean presence of the Force here was torn and bleeding, seething with hatred and anger and despair.  I tensed and feared the worst--that the emotions in me were poisoning the very environment as they had done aboard the _Stella Arcos_.  But behind the roiling storm of uncontrollable passions, my mouse-self detected the massive presence of another.

I cannot say how long I contemplated that presence, trapped in fascination and horror, before I found myself able to think again.  I shrunk myself down further, to the size of a common arachnid, a web-weaving spider, and set to hunting down and gathering the threads of my friends' lives.

I found the three Jedi, life-strands stretched out from their essences, but bleeding into the massive presence as if sucked into a singularity.  As I watched, I saw infrequent but powerful waves of dark red energy flow from the presence to the Jedi, their repulsion of its invasion sending shock waves that buffeted my tiny Force-body.

The size of a spider, I had only the resources of the tiny creature.  I stretched out and began to tentatively cocoon my friends in a web of my own Force-making, my movements small and furtive.  The life-strands reaching into the presence of evil thinned, and I felt peace enter the equation.

A fourth life-strand stretched at the edge of my field of Force-vision.  It burned clean and pure with innocence, and throbbed with pain.  Mission!

I focused on her and followed her leaking life-thread.  But it did not go into the presence like the other Jedi.  It went around it, and stretched off into a murky, clouded distance, connected to something I could not see.  I could not follow it without approaching that presence.

She did not suffer as the others did, not being Force-sensitive.  I settled for cocooning her like the others, just in case.  But perhaps I should have left her, trusting in the Force to keep her.  For with the last effort, I attracted the attention of that presence.

I became suddenly aware of my smallness in the Force, and the attention of that great presence, calling to me with irresistible force.  //I sense darkness in this one.//  The voice of the presence echoed through my head, threatening to burst it with the immensity of its power.  //Come to me, little one.  Feed your darkness.  Grow stronger.//

My tiny presence in the Force kept me from even articulating a refusal.  I felt myself being pulled towards that presence, like a leaf in the rushing winds that swept across the grassy plains of Dantooine.

Desperate, I reached out to whatever life I felt in the Force around me, and found anchors where I should have been looking for them all along.

In Carth and Canderous.

My smallness in the Force proved to be more of an advantage than I thought.  The massiveness of the presence, coupled with my smallness, made me a difficult target.  I felt the focus of that presence pass over me several times, leaving me stripped bare and powerless in its wake, but fortunately too small to be trapped.  

I fought against the pull.  In desperate panic, I sunk hooks into Carth and Canderous, and I felt them feeding me.  I pulled back, horrified.  The Dark Side comes so easily to me now that I drain the lives of my friends without thought.  The shock sent me tumbling back out of the Force and into consciousness with a great gasp that nearly ripped my chest open.  I felt wetness on my cheeks and upper lip.  I reached up to brush it away and a hand closed around my wrist.  "Easy, easy," Carth said.

I opened my eyes to see him staring down at me, his face gray and haggard.  I tried to apologize, to tell him that I did not mean to steal his life force the way I did.  I tried to sit up.

Canderous's hands lay heavy on my shoulders and I realized belatedly that he cradled me between his thighs.  He handed me a damp cloth.  The sweet, ocean smell of kolto reached me and I breathed it in.  The cloth came away bloody.

I looked up at him.  His battle-hardened features were impassive.  I never realized how much lay hidden behind his steely eyes.  "I'm sorry," I said.  "I didn't know what I was doing."

"I kill thieves who steal from me," he said.  "If you'd taken something that wasn't freely given, you'd be dead."

I looked away, up into the green hell of the jungle.  "Bewildering," I said.  The single individual in the galaxy whom I had believed to be the harshest, most unforgiving failed to bat so much as an eyelash at my atrocities.

As I sat up, Carth handed me a vial of bluish liquid.  He handed one to Canderous as well.  "Kolto shooters.  Drink up."

I handed mine back to him.  "I have no need," I said, hanging my head.  "That which I took from you sustains me, the more is my regret."

Carth put his hand on mine.  "You saved them," he said, motioning to the now-quiescent Jedi.  "I'd gladly spare more for that alone.  And I'm your friend.  Just consider it Carth-flavored kolto."  He offered me a wan, lopsided grin before breaking open the vial and downing the kolto inside.

Canderous made a face and handed back his vial.  "You expect me to drink this after that visual?"

I laughed.  Sudden and sharp.  I realized what I had done--I had touched the Force again and survived.  My friends had survived, and while I faltered, no one perished because of me.  I laughed again, nearly hysterical.  "Please don't ask me to do that again," I said.

"No promises, Princess," Canderous said.  His honesty offered me a brutal sort of comfort.  If I could only convince him to drop the nickname.

"Can you stand?"  Carth asked.  "HK tells us that planetary defenses, such as they are, picked up half a dozen small, unauthorized ships landing in the jungle canyon south of here."

"Sith," I said, with certainty.  "The Council was informed that two Sith prisoners escaped the Republic garrison.  They charged us with bringing them back.  We were looking for you when--" I waved a hand, unable to express the recent events in sufficient brevity--"all this happened."

"Statement: What of the master's condition?"  HK-47 said.

I took a deep breath.  "Revan, Jolee, and Juhani are--there's something here."

"Something?" Carth asked, rummaging in an armor carrier to pull out the black and silver breastplate of his favored armor.  "What sort of something?"

I shook my head.  "I--it's difficult to explain.  There's a--some sort of presence here."  I shuddered with the memory of that pull.  "It sucks you into itself within the Force."

"You're still with us," Canderous said.

"I barely touched the Force just now.  Had I embraced it fully, as they did, I would have been in the same state."  I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold in spite of the oppressive humidity.  "I made myself very small.  I was able to stabilize their--I suppose I would call it 'Force-bleed,' but I don't know if I can disconnect them from that thing.  Nor do I believe it would be a good idea to try."

"We can't just leave them," Carth said.

I nodded.  "I agree.  However, what you felt when I--" Shame dragged my eyes to the jungle floor, "--took from you what was not mine to take--I panicked, because that presence had finally noticed me."

"Just great," Carth muttered.  "More Force-voodoo."  He shrugged into his armor and fastened the straps.  The distinctive brightness of his favorite jacket was replaced by his new preferred armor.  

Feeling virtually useless, I began collecting up the remains of the medpacs we'd gone through.  I wobbled slightly upon rising too fast.  The aftereffects of my appalling behavior while in the Force were beginning to exact their toll.  Draining the life-force of another brings with it a rush of vitality that is...intoxicating in its intensity.  But borrowing life from another does not come without its price.  Life is more than simple vitality.

I remember it was on Kashyyyk that Noura first ordered him into the sleek black and silver armor she'd stripped from Darth Bandon's cooling corpse.  Now I also experienced the memory from his point of view.

He'd been reluctant to relinquish the modified Republic armor.  She'd badgered, wheedled, and cajoled him for days, and finally resorted to cheating--I knew through our bond--at Pazaak until he'd agreed to wear the dark apprentice's armor.  "I've taken your shirt, Onasi," she said gleefully.  "Now you have to wear my armor."  A glint appeared in her eye.  "Or nothing at all."

"Spare us, please," Mission said, laughing.

"Dammit, woman, one of these days I swear I'll turn you over my knee and teach you a lesson--"

"Promises, promises," Noura retorted.  

I had not recognized then that my disapproval of her behavior masked jealousy, that she was able to be so at ease with the crew, and yet command them by force of personality alone.  And in an embarrasing intimacy lent to me by Carth's own memories, I now remembered his feelings about the exchange as well, and they made me blush.

Now, Darth Bandon's armor was the first that he reached for.  On the Ebon Hawk while I was gone, he'd upgraded it with a mesh underlay and reinforcement panels.  My awareness of his memories allowed me to understand that, for him, the armor held memory of that exchange as well.

Canderous armored himself with the protection of his people, but left the sinister-visaged helm hooked to a strap on his pack.  He shouldered his heavy repeater.  "Well, what now?"  He looked at me.

I realized I had no idea what to do next.  "Whatever it is that has imprisoned the minds of our friends, we need to stop it.  A predator like that, so close to so many Jedi--left unchecked, would be disastrous."

"Not to mention we've gotta stop the Sith," Carth said.  He strapped his blaster holsters around his hips and added the sheaths for two vibroblades across his back.

Canderous shouldered his heavy repeater.  "What are we going to do about these four?"

Zaalbar warbled.  [I will watch over them.]

I gasped, the pale blue of Mission's skin reminding me of something I had neglected.  "Mission," I said.  "In the Force, I felt her.  She is also trapped, but not by the will of whatever holds the other Jedi.  Her life-strand leads off into the distance--" I closed my eyes and tried to remember.  I didn't even need to touch the Force to feel the presences of the invaders of the jungle.  "Down there."  I pointed to the downhill slope that led to the deep canyons.  "I cannot hope to defeat the evil through the Force," I said.

[If Mission is not trapped by that evil, then let us free her.]

Carth nodded.  "The more crew we have, the better off we'll be."

I looked down at Mission's still form.  "Isn't that Dustil's cloak?"

Carth bent down to examine the garment.  "I--yes, but how did she?"  He looked at Zaalbar for an explanation, but the Wookiee looked away.

"What is it?" I asked.  

Zaalbar shook his head.  He was hiding something.  [Can you find her with your powers?]

"Whatever's holding her is down there," I said.  "With the Sith."

Zaalbar roared with sudden fury.

* * *


	29. Logical Paradox

Logical Paradox

Bastila

Carth stroked the fibers of the cloak thoughtfully.  "If Dustil's cloak is out here, then maybe Dustil is, too."  He thumbed his commlink and spoke into it, but received no reply.  He looked at us.  "Dustil's gone silent.  We should, too."

Canderous nodded and pinned me with a hard look.  "Can you still use your lightsaber?"

I reached for the cool metal cylinder at my belt and nodded.  If anything, the lightsaber, and the cool certainty of battle were the only things that remained constant.

"Supplication: Please allow me to blast the meatbags responsible for the master's condition."

Carth shook his head.  "HK, you stay here and protect her.  Feel free to blast any Sith meatbags that come your way."  He turned to me.  "Let's move."

Canderous grinned.  "Time to hunt."

We began a twisting path down into the canyon, hacking through the undergrowth, the men relying on me for directions.  I simply followed the pull of the awful presence and went in the direction every part of my being screamed at me not to go.  As we proceeded downhill, the smell of the jungle grew more redolent.  The smell of life was thick in the air, but beneath it, I began to detect the stench of decay.

I stumbled over something in the thick tangle and fell.  What I thought was a stump turned out to be a small stone obelisk.  I brushed the creepers away and felt something cold brush the edges of my consciousness.  

Carth crouched down next to me.  "Sith hieroglyphs," he said.  "Path markers to the temple," he murmured in a softer tone, tracing his fingers over the moss-covered glyphs.

He seemed fascinated with them.  Too fascinated.  "Carth," I said sharply.

"What?"  He shrugged.  "I recognize them from Korriban."

It was then that we heard the voices.

A party of silver-uniformed Sith troopers burst through a break in the trees.  Canderous had already dropped to one knee and fired his repeater.  Carth whirled, drawing his blasters and I--

Out of habit I reached for the Force.  I believe that I intended to put them in a stasis field, but the smooth ripple of stasis was not what danced along my skin. White-hot Force lightning instead flew from my fingers and a wave of rage darkened my vision.

When it cleared, our attackers were no more.  A strangled keening sounded around us and I realized it was coming from my own throat.

"Bastila!"  Canderous shook me roughly.

"We don't have time for this," Carth said sharply, and slapped me lightly across the face.

The shock of Carth--of all people--striking me brought me out of the shocked fog that sucked at my soul.  I took a deep breath and the keening ended.

Canderous was glaring at Carth.  "Republic?"

Carth blinked.  "Huh?"  He put a hand on his chest, over his breastbone and rubbed it absently, a frown creasing his features.

"I reserve the right to be the one to hit Bastila in the future.  Understand?"

"What?  I--"  Crimson crawled over the planes of Carth's face.  He raised an eyebrow at Canderous who nodded once, sharply.  

Canderous rose to his feet and cradled me in his arms.  "Nice shooting," he said, grinning at me.

In spite of the nature of our relationship since the events of the Star Forge, his grin was an unfamiliar intimacy.  I struggled out of his arms to stand on wobbly legs.  "How can you say that?" I demanded, the bitter burn of shame a familiar fire in my insides.  "I used rage to fuel my powers, not peace."  Carth had begun walking down the hill again and Canderous and I followed after him.  "Emotions are uncontrollable.  That is why they lead to the Dark Side when they are used with the Force.  I could have just as easily turned that lightning on you and Carth."

"You didn't."  He shrugged.  "Once you got the job done, you stopped."

"No!  That's not the right way to think!"  Once again, the logical paradox that was Canderous Ordo overwhelmed me.  How could he have such a--a nobility and be such a remorseless bastard at the same time?  I pondered the question as we proceeded further into the canyons, and the green gloom turned to twilight.

Carth's path was taking us away from the markers and I called attention to it.  "Carth!  Over here.  This is the path."

He turned to look back at me and shook his head once.  He jerked his chin towards a thick clump of vines across a deadfall as thick as a man and twice as long.  His hands moved towards his hips, but then paused, and he reached up behind him and drew the vibroblades.

Canderous and I shared puzzled looks.  Canderous brought the repeater up and I reached for my lightsaber.  The oppressive sense of anticipation--that presence, and my own internal darkness--they would be left wanting after this encounter.  I will not feed them.

Moving silently, Carth leapt into the thicket.  Green vegetation flew as his vibroblades flashed, and a party of Sith exploded from the tangle.  I thumbed the activation plate on my lightsaber, the cool blue of the blade glimmering through the humid air.

"Don't think," Canderous said to me.  "Just fight."  He fired, and a Sith soldier dropped, the energy bolt from his blaster tracing a harmless arc skyward.

I leapt forward and brought my lightblade down on another soldier, relieving him of an arm.  I flurried against the next, the staccato sounds of Canderous' blaster and the ringing clang of Carth's blades primitive musical counterpoint to the basso profundo of the energy weapon I wielded.

I believed our enemies to be vanquished when a soft sound from the bushes to my right alerted me that they were not.  The unmistakable snap-hiss of a lightsaber not my own, its ruby glow a dissonant contrast to the virulent greenery surrounding us.

I turned.  A black-robed Dark Jedi stood before us, her features behind the breather mask twisted in scorn.  "It will be my pleasure to dispose of you for the mistress," she said.

"Blah, blah, blah," Canderous said, and fired.  She deflected his blaster bolts.  

I stepped towards her.  I had lost track of Carth, but I knew he could hold his own for the time being.  I took Canderous's earlier words to heart and brought my blade up.  _Don't think, just fight_.

She struck, and I parried.  I flurried, and she blocked.  Her blows came hard and fast, one upon the other, and I did not have the time to devote to emotions.  I concentrated instead on staying alive.  The shadows from our crossed blades danced over the greenery around us.  I thought I detected movement behind her, but I could not devote more than a vague recognition of it as her blade descended in a crimson arc towards me.

I crouched and brought my own blade up above my head to block.  The impact sent a shock all the way to my shoulder and my arm went numb.  I waited for the next blow to fall and prayed I would have the strength to deflect it.

Her sharp cry of victory ended in a sharp and abrupt gurgle.  Her body sagged into the arms of Carth Onasi.  I thumbed my saber's blade off and as he lowered her to the ground, his eyes met mine, black pools reflecting the red light of her saber, still in her lifeless hands.  The front of her dark robes were wet with blood from the long gash in her neck.  Carth's blade dripped red.

He let her body drop to the jungle floor, his eyes still on mine.  "Didn't want it bad enough," he said, offering me not so much a smile as a baring of his teeth.  He sheathed the blade without even cleaning it, and put his hand on his breastbone again.  His features clouded, then cleared.  "Come on," he said.  "We've got to get to the temple.  It all happens at the temple."

The twilight should have brought with it cooler air, but the humidity in the canyon remained oppressive, sitting over us like a thick, malevolent layer of Hutt-slime.  We reached the canyon floor without encountering another party of Sith.  Sweat stuck my clothing to my skin and I twisted my hair back up into a sloppy knot just to get it off my neck.  For once, I envied Revan her topknot, even if the style was horribly barbaric.

Carth continued on point as we followed the obelisk markers on a winding path along the valley floor.  I could hear the rush of water to our left.  Twilight seemed to quiet the life in the jungle around us, and in ourselves.  Carth moved swiftly, barely heeding the markers leading us.  He moved as a man driven and spared little effort for anything beyond his objective.  Even disconnected from the Force as I was, I sensed something riding him.  

The click and snap of Carth unfastening his armor reached my ears, as did the sound of Canderous moving up next to me.  "You feel it, too," he muttered, jerking his chin in Carth's direction.  "He's not himself."

"He's a man in love, and his woman is in peril," I said, even though I knew that didn't entirely explain it.  Carth peeled off his armored jacket and tore off the thermal undershirt.  I gaped.  "That is unusual," I murmured.  I couldn't help noticing the planes of muscle in his back.  He was built differently than Canderous--not unpleasantly so, but I was not used to seeing bare-chested men.

Canderous humphed.  "Scrawny," he muttered.

I found myself smiling.  If Revan were here, she'd surely be cat-calling for Carth, and teasing Canderous mercilessly by now.  But I was not Revan.  I did not have that ease with people.  "He lacks your impressive collection of battle scars," I said.

One corner of his mouth quirked up at that.  "I wasn't aware you noticed."

Flustered, I bit my lip.

His half-grin faded.  "Some warriors carry their scars on the inside.  Keep an eye on him.  There's something about this place."

"The presence of evil," I said.

"The earth itself wants blood," he said.

I shivered.  In the distance, the whir of speeders came closer.  Carth pulled his armor jacket back on and re-fastened it.  The speeder came out of nowhere, and six Sith leapt off it and struck out at us.

Canderous began blasting and I leapt in the air, activating my lightsaber as an adhesive grenade exploded, lighting the path briefly and coating everything with sticky goo.  Canderous staggered, knee-deep in it, but continued to fire.  

I landed in it as it began to harden.  My boots crunched on the adhesive, but I remained free to move.  I flurried my blade, deflecting blaster bolts, and moved in for a kill.  Shiny Sith armor reflected the glow of my blade.  The cover fire Canderous was laying down lit the clearing in bright flashes of blue-white energy.  A trooper burst out of the undergrowth to my right and I failed to deflect his blaster bolt, my blade embedded in the midsection of one of his comrades.

White-hot pain shot through my side.  A guttural cry escaped my lips.  The adhesive surrounding us disintegrated and Canderous burst free.  His repeater slung over his shoulder, he charged in with an Echani firebrand.  The double-bladed weapon sang a metallic aria against the Sith armor, and a helm flew up into the green dusk before it landed with a wet thud on the ground at my feet.

* * *


	30. Den of Vipers

A/N: Thanks to all who are hanging in there with this behemoth! :)   Myxale, Aroseb, Nima Onasi--you all get props for sticking with me so long! Starlight the Wanderer and Shadow39, thanks for joining us.

Please review.  We do this out of love, so if we've taken you on a fun ride, be sure and tip the pilot with a review!

Den of Vipers

Dustil

He crept forward, closer to the temple that swarmed with Sith.  The alarm had been raised at the settlement and on the space station, that much he could tell by the occasional fireball that scorched a gouge through the thick treeline, and the occasional body he encountered wearing Republic colors.

Xartha Tek and Traynian had set up a makeshift encampment in the shadow of the temple.  He'd been watching their movements for an hour, calculating the right time to approach.  During that time, Sith snub-fighters had been landing in twos and threes, sliding under the space station's radar until the alarm had gone up in the settlement.  The commlink he had in his ear allowed him to listen to the flight chatter on the Republic channels, and he counted half a dozen snubs making successful landings before some idiot finally screwed the tauntaun and the Republic called his bluff.

But jungle warfare was quiet warfare, and the skirmishes had stayed far away from his hiding place, and far away from the temple.

Finally, Xartha emerged from the shelter into the pale light of the glowsticks that ringed the encampment.  He stepped forward, into the clearing.  "Xartha," he said.

"Ah, apprentice."  She held out her hand.  He approached her slowly, but held himself proud.  Just the right combination of deference and arrogance, a lesson he had learned at the hands of the harsh taskmasters of the Sith Academy.  He didn't bother to correct her.  If her ignorance accorded him more power, then she would suffer for it, not him.

"I was sent to help," he said and bowed over her hand.  "I'm at your service," he said with a meaningful glance into her eyes.  "I had to make sure you fared well after we parted."

"You're a silver-tongued little rogue," she said.  "Bold of you.  Come."  She turned towards the temple.  "See the rewards of your boldness."

He followed her between the cracked paver stones that had once been a wide portico.  Crumbling arches defined the temple, but little else gave a hint that there was anything but jungle undergrowth here.  She led him to a cracked, but intact arch propped up with makeshift supports.  A shallow-risered stairway led underground.

The humid heat gave way to humid coolness, and the cool turned to damp.  Glowrods had been rigged to the dripping stone walls, casting eerie blue light over the moss-covered stones.  Dustil quelled the shiver that wanted to chase itself up his spine.

Xartha led him into the dank tunnels at the end of the stairs.  "The Jedi razed the surface, but they neglected the depths.  They cower in their towers, huddled around candles while they curse the darkness that is our legacy."

He didn't feel the need to point out that the "cowering Jedi" had pretty much kicked the asses of the Dark Lords of the Sith in one way or another.  His silence was rewarded when, after the tunnels narrowed to an almost uncomfortable slenderness, they emerged into a cavernous underground chamber, nearly a hundred percent intact.

Dustil couldn't keep from gaping.  The tombs on Korriban had been tall-ceilinged, narrow affairs, full of twisting pathways.  This wide, echoing room differed completely.  Of course, its function as a temple for the living might have something to do with it.

No, temple for the living was the wrong phrase.  This was no fit place for the living.  As soon as his booted foot stepped onto the flagstones of the ritual space, cold arrowed through him.

"You can feel it, can't you?" Xartha whispered.  "The dark power here.  See?"  She pointed to a massive stone altar, half-hidden in the shadows cast by the feeble glowsticks.  

No, this place was too dark for even the Sith.  The underground defensibility would have appealed to Traynian and his ilk, but Dustil would bet his blasters that his men would have balked at actually setting up a base in this accursed place.  And Xartha wouldn't have wanted them to, just in case someone wanted to horn in on her power.  In fact--

"You are wondering why I brought you here, young apprentice."

He nodded.  "Fascinating place."

He motioned around the room.  "Not a thing like the tombs on Korriban, but interesting, nonetheless."

"Pay close attention," she said.  "This is no Sith temple, but a Massassi one.  Our ancestors built to preserve or to protect.  The Massassi built to collect.  This is an apex of power, mapped in line with other underground temples to form a nexus.  When the correct conditions exist, great power will manifest."

Dustil's stomach dropped out the bottom of his boot soles.  _I'm standing on a giant battery for Dark Side power_, he thought.  "And you know how to manifest it," he said boldly.

"I do, clever young one."

_Now comes the catch_, he thought, _because Sith don't do things out of the goodness of their hearts_.  "But I need your help."  She looked up at him, her eyes huge dark pools, inviting him to fall into them, surrender his will and do anything--anything to make those eyes sparkle with approval.

"I--" He swallowed.  She stepped closer to him and he stepped back.  She advanced, he retreated.  _You could help her_, an inner voice said.  _You could help her until the last minute, and take the power from her while she's distracted_.

"It's no trouble to help," she said.  I just need a vessel, and you are young and strong."

He backed into something solid and cold.  Xartha reached around him and he heard, too late, the clink of manacles as they closed around his wrists.

"No trouble at all," she said.  "And you won't feel a thing."

She pushed him back onto the stone slab. The cold seeped into him and his body grew numb, leaving only his mind.  The calculated gamble he took with Xartha paid off, but it was useless compared to the cost to join the game.  He left his only ally out cold on the ground.  He neither asked nor expected help from any other sources, fully aware from the start that his endeavors were solely at his own discretion.  _Well, this puts a gizka in the hyperdrive, doesn't it?  I've got nobody to blame but myself, and nobody to rescue me._

//_You've got me_.//

_And you are..._

//_Someone who can help you_.//

Xartha distracted him by tearing open his jacket.  "The other Dark Jedi are fools to dismiss the power of Sith alchemy," she muttered.  She opened a container of something thick and smelly and dabbed a finger in it.  

She traced symbols on his chest with the cold, viscous substance and they began to burn his skin.  "What are you doing to me?"

She patted his shoulder.  "The ochre has an adrenal cocktail that will keep you alive long enough for the nexus to power up."

"Thank you so much for your concern," he said wryly.

She tapped his chin.  "The rules are simple.  I need a vessel for the power here, and you are a strong young man.  The power will not burn out of you as fast."

"You're too kind," he said, which was foolish--Sith were no more kind to those they used than they were polite to a hammer.  He was a tool, and he knew it.  The trick was to determine what kind of tool he could be, and if he could survive his own use.

* * *


	31. Bathed in Blood

Bathed In Blood

Bastila

I did not see Carth, but I suddenly ran out of enemies to fight.  Canderous nudged the severed head with his toe.  "For your trouble," he said.  My mind flashed back to Kashyyyk, to a scene I'd witnessed, but now remembered from behind his eyes as well.

We accompanied Noura on her quest into the Shadowlands.  As with the raiders on Dantooine, Canderous held nothing but contempt for the Mandalorians attacking unarmed Wookiees in the misty tangles of tree roots.  Through his stolen memories, I learned he had been deeply shamed by the raiders, had taken it as a personal insult to his culture.  At the time, I believed it to be the natural, unavoidable result of such a violent culture.

Noura, however, did not share my disapproval.  I worried at the time over her apparent relish at their defeat.  What gave me the most reservation were the events that occurred after we confronted the last party, the party that included the commander of the raiders.

Canderous howled challenges and insults to them as he blasted energy bolts into their armored bodies, burning through personal shields and protective plasteel.  He cursed them, cursed their families, cursed their offspring seven generations hence.  My ears burned while I swung my own weapon in purely defensive actions.  Noura moved in aggressive counterpoint to Canderous, her lightsaber slicing through the air in near silence.  When only the commander remained, she stepped back and allowed Canderous to finish him off.  

When he dropped and the Shadowlands were once again silent save for the screams of predator and prey in the distance, Noura walked to each of the corpses, lifted the head by the helm or hair, and sliced her lightsaber through the neck.  When she had gathered her gruesome trophies, she strode over to Canderous and dropped them at his feet.  "Yours to claim," she said evenly.

I ran off to be sick behind a thick tree root, and did not see what followed.  I'm sure I would not have reacted well to it.  As it is, the memory makes me queasy, but now that I have tasted darkness, its flavor becomes somewhat more palatable.  And it is only right that I suffer the consequences for the life drain I inadvertently performed, if only to serve as a reminder of the price for the power.

While I was indisposed, Noura had taken the hands from the bodies as well, and using her own bare hands, squeezed the blood from the severed limbs onto Canderous's hands.  It was an ancient Mandalorian ritual, symbolic of their brutal and violent culture.  Washing one's hands in the blood of one's enemies signifies complete and total victory over the vanquished.

I looked down at the helm at my feet, then looked up at Canderous.  Carth appeared, melting out of the shadows, his blades dripping with blood.  "Let's move," he said.

"She's been hit," Canderous said.  

I crouched down and jammed my hand in my side.  Blood was everywhere, the greenery blackened with it, the thick, sweet-coppery smell hung over us, and I cannot say what possessed me, but I can admit that my actions were entirely my own doing, or rather, the evil presence lurking in the Force had no bearing on them.  I closed my eyes, and plunged my hands into the wet and sticky ground next to the helm.

Canderous gave me an odd look.  The words leaped to my lips without my full awareness.  "The spilled blood of my enemy strengthens me."

"And victory is mine," he said, finishing the phrase.  We stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before I returned to my senses.

I blinked.  "We should stop for a few moments as well.  I should--" I swallowed thickly, knowing the difficulty the next few minutes would present for me, "I must make sure that the other Jedi are still safe."  I couldn't look at Canderous.  Questions lurked behind his eyes I wasn't equipped to answer.

Carth put a hand on his chest once more, this time leaving a bloody handprint on his armor.

"Revan's going to ream you for that," Canderous said mildly.  "You know she hates cleaning armor."

"Revan," Carth murmured, as if tasting her name.  Once again, something crawled over my awareness with a sense of wrongness.

"The stream's right over there," Canderous said.  "Let's clean up and take a break."

He rose and pulled me to my feet, our bloody hands slipping against one another.  "The earth itself wants blood."  I repeated Canderous's earlier words to him.

He nodded.  "I even feel it.  That presence of yours is affecting all of us.  I think him, most of all."

A little ways away from us, Carth was cleaning his vibroblades with meticulous, calculated motions.  He held himself alert, as if he strained to hear the jungle itself breathe.

"He's tense," I said.

"He's using blades," Canderous replied.  "We all get tense in battle.  But he's a warrior, like me, and one thing warriors never do is give up an advantage.  He's an ace with the blasters.  So why is he choosing blades?"

"The intimacy of it," I said, without thinking.  On Kashyyyk, I could not have comprehended it.  After Malak tore open my mind and laid bare the darkness hiding within it, I understood.  I sat down on a flat, mossy rock next to the rushing water and plunged my hands into the stream.  The blood swirled away in the cold water, leaving them clean and pale in the dimming light.

"You have to return to the Force," he said.

I nodded.  Though fear gripped me, my earlier success gave me hope.  Faint hope it was, though.  I moved off the rock and sat on the bank next to him.  I would not admit it, but I needed some human contact.  This time, I would not tarry so long in the Force, and I would most definitely not take life from those around me.  I closed my eyes and went down.

In a vast void, I found my friends.  The Force-cocoons I had spun for them remained intact, but stressed.  I could feel where the presence tried to weaken them, and in Revan's case, I was certain that she had attempted to fight her way out from within.  The great presence seethed, sending out questing tendrils of consciousness to the lives surrounding us.

I felt more life around us--the roiling emotion of a handful of Dark Jedi, clusters of Sith troops, and there again, Mission's life line, spinning away right into the middle of a knot of them, and stuck fast to a bright presence that belonged neither here nor there.  I sensed Canderous, beside me, and Carth, smaller than he should be, given our physical proximity.

A small measure of confidence buoyed me and I stretched a tentative mental probe into the Force, attempting to draw energy to myself and heal the blaster burn charring my side.  Cool water flowed through me and I felt a surge of renewed energy.  Giddy with relief, I celebrated, reveled in the cool healing that had not entirely forsaken me.

And once again, I overstayed my welcome.

Cold gripped me.  //_There you are, little one_.//

I panicked and sought a way out.  Canderous burned beside me.  I could reach out...take just enough to strengthen myself..._No_!

//_Come to me, little one_.//  The pressure from the voice blurred my way back.  I was lost, buffeted in the void.  //_Do not resist what is inside you_.//

_I can't do this_, I thought, a dangerous thought to have inside the living Force.  I felt myself open to the presence.  The darkness inside me, fed by blood and despair, swelled and reached out to the ancient evil.

Yes, I could reach out for it, take comfort in it, let it lend me its strength.  Let it feed me, protect me, take from me in exchange and--

Gossamer threads of draining darkness wrapped themselves around me and I felt my self shrinking, turning inward, curling up in entropy.  I will not fight the tides, when I can become one with my own darkness, and be consumed from within.  I am not strong, like Revan.

The Council tried to tell me how seductive the pull of the Dark Side can be, how insidious.  But safe in the enclave, they couldn't teach me enough.

I huddled in on myself, small and alone, waiting in the dark for the dark itself to consume me, when a Force-bond opened up, and spilled light and cold water into me.

* * *


	32. Killing Season

Killing Season

Canderous

One thing that Onasi and I have in common, apart from bloodlust that only I will admit to, is that neither one of us trust those witch-doctors at the Jedi enclave.  Discovering that Noura had actually been a mind-wiped Revan stunned me.  Of all the luck in the galaxy, the misfit crew that got me off Taris turned out to be led by none other than the galactic scourge and Mandalore's conquerer himself--or herself, which was a considerable surprise on its own.  I couldn't have asked for a better battle-leader.  

Noura earned my respect with her tactical cleverness.  She understood me in a way none of my employers had.  But more than that, she understood everyone in the misfit crew, and had a way of bringing out each of our tactical advantages that made us a smoothly oiled juggernaut of power.

In the manner of my people, she forged us into a clan worthy of my people's golden age.  My earlier statement to Revan, about finding more mercenary work, was a lie.  My new plan was to stick with my clan, whether she wanted me around or not.  The sentimentalities, I would keep to myself, but I considered these people my new clan.  Even Republic over there, who masked his bloodlust in amorphous ideals.  He had no less of a dark side than myself.

Another reason not to trust the Jedi Council.  They started rubbing off on a person's thoughts, and suddenly I found myself couching things in terms of light and dark sides.  Thank Mandalore I didn't yet subscribe to their morality.  They would have their warriors deny the nature that made them what they are.  They would keep Bastila a half-grown child, sheltered and stifled, rather than allow her to feel and wield her full power.  They have convinced her she is weak.

I could feel her slipping away, slumped beside me in that Force world wherever she was.  If the Jedi teachings are true, then part of everyone and everything is in that world.  Including me.  "Time to come back out, Bastila," I said, and shook her.

She did not respond.  She was locked someplace where I couldn't go.  I shook her harder, shouted at her as much as I dared, and finally pushed her into the cold running water.

She came up sputtering, but conscious.  "Never do that!" she said, shivering.  "If I had been deeper into the Force meditation, I could have died!"  She blinked rapidly, wiping the water out of her eyes.  "But I--I thank you.  I think I nearly succumbed.  That presence--" she shuddered.  "It's close.  And it is hard to resist."  

I checked her face carefully.  No tears of blood leaked from her eyes this time, and the wound in her side was pink with new skin.  I smiled, pleased.  "I'll make a Mandalorian of you yet, Princess."

She wrung out her hair in a distractingly feminine gesture.  "I don't think so," she said haughtily, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

I laughed.  "Too late."  She was a fighter.  Her true nature would come out sooner or later.  I only hoped it would be before she got herself killed.  

I went with her as she approached Carth.  Republic was looking a little chewed around the edges, and I didn't trust the homicidal light in his eyes.  I respected it, but I didn't trust it.

"Carth," she said.  "Wouldn't you like to wash up?"  His blades were clean, but he had neglected his hands and face, still bruised and filthy.  Like I said, I didn't trust it, but I respected it.

Bastila knelt in front of him and tore open a kolto-pad.  She wiped down his face and he jerked, as if coming awake.  "Revan," he said.  "She's lost."

Bastila exchanged a worried glance with me.  "We'll find her at the temple," she said soothingly.

He nodded and rose.  Dropping the swords, he strode down to the stream, knelt at the bank, and plunged his head in.

Bastila's mouth quirked up.  "Crude, but effective, I suppose."

We left the stream, Carth returning to point.  In the darkness, his armor blended into the night.  Moonlight filtered down through the canopy, providing scant light to see our way.  We used glowrods infrequently, unwilling to give ourselves away.  The noises from other sentients grew closer as we approached the temple complex.

The grade flattened out abruptly, and we came to a break in the trees.  I held out a hand to stop Bastila from stepping out into the clearing.  "That's not a natural break," I murmured.  The jungle went from lush and oppressive to nearly bare, nothing above knee-height, and the break line was too clean, too sharp to be natural.

Bastila nodded.  "Half a century ago, a Jedi strike team razed this place to defeat Exar Kun."

"Say what you will about Mandalorians, but you Jedi can produce enemies worse than anything we came up with."  And the things I had seen while in the company of the Jedi got me thinking.  Evil Jedi, ruins, a place of great suffering and hatred, something told me the biggest threat to us didn't come from the raiding parties of the Sith.

Bastila sniffed haughtily.  I chuckled, then sobered quickly.  "I'm no Jedi," I said, "but the thought occurs to me that the Jedi might not have obliterated the dark side from this place entirely."  I might have been stating the obvious.

She nodded.  "The Council admitted as much," she said, "Revan was going to take care of it."

"Sounds to me like it took care of her.  And Juhani and Jolee," I said.  "That leaves you to defeat it."

In the dim light, her face whitened.  "Confront that thing?" she said faintly.  "Face it, in the Force?  I cannot."

"You went into the Force twice already today," I said.  "You healed yourself and you kept our clanfolk safe from it."

"Clanfolk?"

"Never mind," I said tightly.  Figures she'd latch onto that.  But I wasn't ready to share my thoughts of clan and comrade yet.  "You're going to have to battle that thing through the Force."

"Impossible.  We'll contact the enclave.  The Council--"

"Would have done it themselves already, if they could," I cut her off.  "I'm coming to suspect that they wield less power than they make out.  Why do you think they want Revan to do it?"

"But they have me instead," she said.

"They have what the Force has given them.  What they had all along, but refused to acknowledge."

"But I can't hope to defeat something that powerful.  Not when--not when I want to join with it.  The power," she said, wrapping her arms around herself.  "It's like a drug, but worse than the most potent spice.  I can't fight the darkness when I crave it."

I shook my head.  She still didn't get it.  "You _are _fighting it."  I lowered my voice.  "Onasi's not."  Chalk another one up to Revan for making me question a perfectly good case of battle rage in a clansman.

Carth emerged from the shadows, startling Bastila.  "The Republic sent out patrols.  They've taken out the perimeter guards and scouts that we missed.  More's the pity," he added.

"Carth," Bastila said sharply.  She glared at me.  "I think you're rubbing off on him."

I smiled.  Grimly.  "Not me, sister."  I turned to Carth.  "Looks like there's still plenty in the temple to deal with."

He replied with a humorless baring of teeth.

"You ready to hunt?" I asked him.

He brought the swords out of their sheaths.  "It's killing season."

* * *


	33. Reinforcement

Reinforcement

Bastila

Never have I wanted to avoid a place as much as I wanted to avoid that clearing.  The crumbling stone arches resembled nothing so much as the gaping maws of sarlacc pits, waiting to claim hapless victims for slow, painful, digestive deaths.

And yet, it drew me irresistibly.  The darkness of the jungle behind me pressed down on the back of my neck.  The clearing offered a breather, respite from the pressure.  I could breathe easier in that temple, I was sure of it.

My feet began to carry me forward.  "There's something in that temple," I said, stating the obvious.

Beside me, Canderous chuckled.  "Judging by the equipment, at least three dozen Sith, and a complement of Dark Jedi and their apprentices, I'd wager.  Battle droids as well."  He pointed to a well-lit mechanical repair station where a technician seemed to be working on a twitching, disembodied mechanical leg.  He grinned.  "Sounds like a party to me."

I huffed.  "Mandalorians!"

He mocked me.  "Jedi princesses!"

A choked gurgle came from the other side of the clearing.  "That'll be Republic."  Canderous unslung his repeater and checked the charge.  "You ready?"

I shook my head.  "A Jedi is never eager for battle."  I took refuge in quoting the teachings of the Council.

"Not very convincing, Princess."

_He's bluffing_, I thought.  I have always excelled at maintaining the facade.  Our physical relationship did not allow him access to the secrets to my soul.  He could not know that I thirsted for some outlet for my fear at what lurked in the Force, hungry and waiting.

"I'll be damned if Republic racks up more kills than me."  Canderous started forward.  I had no choice but to follow him.  The technician looked up.  The poor bastard gave a cry of terror to see a Mandalorian burst out of the jungle.  It was the last sound he ever made, but it was enough to raise an alarm in the compound.

Sith soldiers burst out of tents and the shadows of the colonnaded temple promenade.  Lights flickered on in the darkness around us, revealing the power-up sequences of sentry droids.

I slipped into the space between glowstaves.  I am not a killing machine.  Combat for combat's sake is anathema to all that the Jedi code stands for.  

A concussion grenade exploded behind me, knocking me facedown on the ground.  My teeth rattled in my head and I felt a wound open up on my chin.  The breath was sucked out of my lungs and failed to return.  My vision grayed, I kept my head down until the pressure passed and I could breathe again.

Behind me, in the sudden, silent wake of the concussion grenade, I heard the sound of heavy repeater fire, accompanied by gravelly laughter.  I am not a killing machine, but I cannot deny the advantage of having one at my back.

I clambered to my feet, wiping blood and crushed vegetation from my face.  I powered on my lightsaber and advanced towards the temple.

Two sentry droids stood in my path.  I raised my hand, ready to destroy them with the Force power that so readily sparked at my fingertips.

_No_!  My connection to the Force was too close, the urge to draw on it too powerful, and the touching of it too easy.  _This is a place of dark power_, I thought.  The lair of whatever beast lurked inside the Force, and fed from the lives of my friends.

Sith troopers poured out of the mouths of the temple arches, aiming blasters into the jungle night.  Behind me, I heard the whine of a light transport engine, and shouted orders to troops.

Cries of, "For the Republic!" sounded and I realized that we did indeed have allies.  My attention left the droids and I looked around to see a small batallion of red and yellow garbed soldiers aiming blasters.

I used my lightsaber to carve a path towards the temple.  The Republic soldiers moved in a wedge formation at an oblique angle towards me.  I found myself shoulder to shoulder with a lieutenant.  "The Council refused our request for Jedi assistance," he shouted.  "What are you doing here?"

Hearing that shocked me.  "They sent my comrades and me," I said.  

The captain next to the lieutenant corrected him as the junior officer lobbed an ion grenade at a trio of battle droids attempting to split his formation.  "That's a negative, Lieutenant.  The Council said we already had all the help we needed in the jungle."

At times, the obliqueness of the Council is infuriating.  Their knowledge of great evil lurking here, unchecked, and their refusal to bring all resources to bear upon it suddenly infuriated me.

Fury paves the path to the Dark Side.  

"One damn Jedi?" The lieutenant snorted.  "Remind me to send them a fruit basket for their great effort."  He ran off to aid his surrounded troops.  The Republic soldiers were outnumbered at least three to one.  

The Captain shouted into his commlink.  "Crescent formation, squadron!  Hold the line!"  He turned to me.  "Ignore that meatball.  We're thankful for whatever the Council sends."  He saluted and ran to assist his men.

Shame consumed me.  Did the captain realize that all the Council had given him was little more than spare parts?

I deflected a beam of energy from a droid and threw my lightsaber at it.  The glowing blade spun in a whirling arc, lighting the gloom around us as it struck the droid's targeting sensor and returned to my hand.  In the crazy light, I caught a glimpse of dull silver and black armor and the flash of twin vibroblades.  

Carth was heading for the temple, dark determination radiating from him in waves.  He cut through anything, man or droid, that stood in his way.  I cannot say why or how, but Dark Side energy flowed around and through him.  _He is not Force-sensitive_, I thought.  _How can he call on it?_

The temple.  That was the answer.  Whatever lurked in its crumbling shadows served to augment dark energies.  Whatever intentions Carth had for that temple, I suddenly knew they were not good.

I swung my lightsaber around to eliminate the Sith troopers that believed they were sneaking up on me and caught Canderous's attention.  "The temple!" I called out.

He nodded and pulled out a plasma grenade. I closed my eyes and the ordnance burned the backs of my eyelids.  When the heat and shock passed, I opened them again and darted past the smoking slag heap that used to be a duo of assault droids.

The flagstones of the temple's entrance were chipped and rose in places, slowing us.  I could hear the distant ring of vibroblades and the punch of blaster fire, and followed it.  Once again, our path took us down.  Long ramps led into the underground bowels of this place of evil and I felt my steps slow as we approached a wide stone doorway, through which flickering torchlight could be seen.  My breath came in labored pants.  I was tired.  So tired.  A stitch in my side encouraged me to find an excuse to stop and rest.  But Canderous forged ahead, his stride strong.

Soon I could move no further.  My eyelids drooped and the urge to close them came strong.  Nevertheless, I continued to put one foot in front of the other, moving forward, gritting my teeth all the while.

Ahead of me, Canderous suddenly stopped and staggered.  "What the--?"

He turned back and threw me a questioning look.  I shook my head.  "I don't know," I whispered.  "There's something huge inside there, blocking us with the Force."

"Then you have to fight this thing through the Force."

Fight it?  Here?  I closed my eyes.  I know I did not reach out with the Force, but I was pulled into it nevertheless.  The presence of evil, the hungry vortex sucked at me.  I felt blackness all around me.  Despair, rage, fury, hopelessness, and claustrophobic oppression that made it nearly impossible to take a breath.  I huddled into a ball in the Force and shrunk.  Down, to the size of a mouse, then a spider, then a sand-flea, until I was nothing.

* * *


	34. Endless Loop

Endless Loop

Juhani

She was ensnared.  The sewers of the Taris undercity surrounded her , and she ran through them, seeking a way out, but all the familiar twists and turns of her youth were absent.

Rakghouls sprung out from around the corners and she struck out at them with her lightsaber.  But when the saber struck their hideous, tortured bodies, it was not a rakghoul she struck down.

It was Quatra.  She struck down her old master repeatedly as the rakghouls attacked and attacked until her blood frothed in her veins and never had the light seemed so far away.

* * *

Jolee

The small galley of the ship they called home was at least forty years out of date, if not more, but Jolee didn't spare a thought for that.  Nayama stood at the sink, washing vegetables, her glorious mane of hair tumbling down her back and love shining in her eyes.  "Hello, Scoundrel," she said.

Years melted away as he wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her hair.  The delicate spicy scent of her beauty potions never failed to intoxicate him.  He jabbed a finger into her back.  "Madam, this is a raid.  Give me your heart and nobody gets hurt."

She turned in his arms and laughed.  "I'm afraid it's not mine to give away.  There's a lawess rogue that's keeping it hostage."

"Really?" He stroked his beard.  "What's the ransom?"

She pouted and handed him a package of meat.  "Defrost this."

"Oho, I get it.  The blackguard's got you on kitchen duty until your poor fingers are worn down to stubs."  He put the meat in the defroster.  "Why don't I sweep you away to my pleasure cruiser where you'll spend your days in comfort."

She burst out laughing, dropping the pretense.  "Isn't that what you already did?"  She put her arms around him.  "And I'd say you have a pretty fertile imagination if you're trying to pass off this rustbucket as a pleasure cruiser."

"Hey, she's sleek, fast, and hasn't let me down yet."  He considered for a moment.  "Just like you."

"You're incorrigible," she said.

Lost in the past, he didn't notice when the room darkened.  "Do you love me?" Nayama asked.

"You know I do, woman."

She began to pull away.  "Love is a lie."

"What?  _Nayama_!"

Her face hardened into cruel lines.  "There is only passion.  Passion leads to power.  Power leads to victory.  Exar Kun has the right of it, and those who won't join him will fall before his blade."

And Jolee remembered.  Remembered he wasn't a young man with a young wife.  His yellow lightsaber suddenly appeared in his hand, the blade humming.  _No!  I can't fight her!_

And Jolee remembered.  Remembered how he hadn't fought Nayama when she left him to join the Sith Lord.  And caused the deaths of thousands through her blade or her actions.

She ran from him, and he became surrounded in a nightmare of blood and death, until the blade of a Dark Jedi descended on him, leaving him in darkness.

The darkness faded, and he was suddenly in the galley again.  The scent of Nayama's beauty potions took his breath away.  The scene played out, her features hardened, the lightsaber appeared in his hand.

"Love is a lie," she said.

_No, I can't, please don't make me.  I love her so much.  Have mercy._

But decades of living had taught Jolee that mercy could be the cruelest thing a person could receive.

"Love is not a lie," he said, bringing the blade down upon her.  "Lies don't hurt so damn much."

* * *

Revan

I am falling alone, assaulted by memories of my other life.

_...Billions will call you master..._

_...A true Sith never dies..._

_...There is only Power..._

No, I don't want this!  Where is Carth?

I keep falling, until suddenly, I'm back on the temple summit, with Bastila.  "Join me," she says.  

I turn away from her and run.  I already made that choice once.

I ran into Carth.  He took me in his arms and I felt the soft hide of Darth Bandon's armor against my cheek.  "Carth, I've been looking--"

"Shh," he says, pressing a finger against my lips.  "Join me."

_Of course_, I thought.  _Why wouldn't I?_

"And reclaim your rightful place as Dark Lord of the Sith."

How could I have missed the obsidian glint in his eyes?  "You're not Carth," I said, pushing him away.

A mocking smile turned up the corners of his mouth and he pulled the armor jacket open.  "I'm not?"

The tattoo on his chest, the one he'd hidden so meticulously, stood out in stark relief against his pale skin.  The glyphs on the sword pulsed in heartbeat-time and the three drops of blood from the inked wound shimmered and glistened in the Rakatan sunlight.  "Don't you recognize my heart?"

I shook my head.  "Carth would never join the Sith."

The not-Carth smiled ferally.  "Not when I can rule them."  He drew twin vibroblades from sheaths at his back.

This can't be happening.  I'm fighting my lover for a title of Sith Lord that I don't even want!  No, wait, I amended myself.  I'm fighting my _would-be _lover because he's too damn noble to engage in any "conduct unbecoming" while flying the Republic's colors on the Ebon Hawk.  "No," I said, shaking my head again.

His features darkened.  "Do you know," he growled, "what happens when a man loses everything?"

He couldn't be Carth.  And yet, he couldn't _not _be Carth.  Not with that pain in his voice.

"There is no one left to absolve him."  The tattoo on his chest began to bleed, leaking from the three inked drops of blood.  "He is Unforgiven."

His pain-soaked voice brought me to my knees, like a physical blow.  "Carth, no.  Don't do this to yourself."  The guilt I experienced, over the wholesale death and destruction I caused as the Sith Lord lay over me like a constant ache, made dull by my lack of memories.  The kind of pain he felt, though--that was a knife, sharp and deadly, piercing.  I remembered it from the Endar Spire, the realization that Trask Ulgo, roommate and complete stranger, who had to talk me into not simply saving my own ass when the Sith attacked, charged to his own death just to make sure I could get to Carth and the last escape pod.

"You're not the only one allowed to have a dark side!" he shouted.  I felt the pain, too much pain in those words.  

"Of course not," I said.  "We all have our dark sides."

"Not your loverboy," he said.  "He's denied his darkness.  Hid it away where he wouldn't have to face it.  Even as it powered him and kept him alive.  The fool believed he could banish it with the love of an emotionless Jedi."

That settled it for me.  Nobody who knew me, before or after my training on Dantooine, could say I was emotionless.  The emotionless me hangs out with graceless Twi'leks, bald Wookiees, anorexic Hutt philanthropists and other imaginary creatures.  "Who are you?" 

"You know who I am."

I narrowed my eyes.  "Try again."

He brought up the swords.  "I am the darkness that eats from within."

I brought up my lightsaber.  Fighting Carth--or even something that just wore his beloved, scruff-jawed face, would be harder than fighting Malak at the Star Forge.

I found Jolee somewhere in my thoughts.  "Passion isn't love.  Passion can lead to the Dark Side, but not love.  Too many people confuse passion with love, including the Jedi Council."

Carth banged the blades together and the ringing noise hurt my ears.

"I won't fight you," I said.

He smiled.  "You won't have to."

* * *


	35. Possession

Possession

Revan

The Carth before me flickered in and out of existence, revealing a black, malevolent presence.  We circled each other warily.  I swung my lightsaber and he clanged the swords together.

His eyes were burning black holes in his face.  I faltered.  The way he flourished the twin blades--with a flyboy's arrogance and a charm unique to only him--_It's not Carth_, I thought, _yet it can't be anyone but him_.  

For the first time, I didn't know what to do.

Just as suddenly, the landscape changed.  Gone was the sun-bleached white stone of the Rakatan temple summit, and in its place, we suddenly stood in ankle-deep mud.  The bright sunlight was gone, replaced by a dark sky lit only with the sickly pale light of glowsticks mounted on high poles.  Steady rain fell down around us, turning bootprints into thick-rimmed puddles in between rows and rows of mud-stained pallets on which dozens--no, hundreds--of the dead and dying lay.

Carth dropped to his knees before a pallet, and began administering from a medkit attached to the pallet.  He rose again and moved to another pallet, spending the medkit.  His hair soaked from the rain, he lifted his head and looked at me.  I gasped.  Years had melted away from his features.  "You there," he said over the sound of the rain.  "Can you tell me where Dar Ensha sector refugees are?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.  He ignored my silence and moved to the next pallet.  "There are so many," he said.  "Too many.  I have to find them."  He moved from pallet to pallet, faster now, lifting the covers from the faces of the dead, attempting field medicine on those still clinging to life, until he came to a single pallet, set a little apart from the others.  I followed him, a small part of me panicked at the scene around me.  Such destruction...

"No, oh, please--"  He dropped to the ground.  "Morgana!"  He pulled the woman off the pallet and cradled her in his arms.  "Medic!  I need a medic over here!" he shouted.

I was drawn closer, drawn to witness the etching of suffering on his face.  The woman he held--I was close enough to see the tears in his eyes and the rain on his lashes, but she remained indistinct, radiating with beauty, even with her life-force as weak as it was.

"Medic!"  He screamed again.  "Somebody _please_!  I'm losing her--I'm losing--"  Morgana's body sagged in his embrace, curling in on herself like a moon flower closing its petals against the rising sun.

"No!  Morgana!"  Carth bent his body into hers, as if he could keep her spirit from fleeing with the weight of his grief.

But I know grief like that.  It swells until it grows too big for the body that holds it until--

"_NOOO!_"  He flung his head back and the cry tore the sky asunder.

We moved then to the blackened rock of a volcanic planet, a roiling atmosphere of seismic activity.  Carth knelt before a gaunt, spare man, whose craggy features were etched in lines that made Canderous look soft and too-well-fed.  The thin man aimed a laser etcher at the bare skin on Carth's chest and the lines of the sword appeared in glistening ink.

"You know what this means, kid?"

Carth nodded once, sharply.  "I'm willing to make the commitment."

"You die to complete the mission," the thin man said.  "Every mission.  No questions asked.  If you live, you wait for word of the next one.  And there's no going back."

"I've got nothing left to go back to," Carth said.  The thin man moved the laser etcher to the base of the sword and traced three drops of blood.  Carth dropped his head to see the man's handiwork.  "One for Morgana, one for Dustil, and one for Telos," he said softly.

The thin man shook his head.  "Homeworlds can be rebuilt, resettled.  Unforgiven is personal.  The third one's for you."

Fine trembling set into my limbs and my lightsaber wavered.  A stray memory returned to me, of the time before, when I'd been Jedi Revan, leading the Republic against the Mandalorians.  The Unforgiven were little more than a legend, a soldiers' folktale common in armies both primitive and sophisticated.

Every army has its folktales of super-soldiers, supernatural warriors possessed of strength, skill, determination, and preternatural knowledge of the enemy.  Warriors whose very lives are bound up in winning their battles, who fight to the death and beyond, in every way possible.  Some called them assassins, berserkers, suicide-squads, desperadoes.  They fought with no thought of self-preservation, their all-out attacks and acceptance of--no, eagerness for--death.  And that made them dangerous.

I believed them legend.  "Carth," I whispered.  Jedi compassion is supposed to be an impersonal thing.  I don't know how they expect that when there are people involved.

The rock crumbled at my feet and we were on top of the Rakatan temple again, circling each other warily.  I sensed with sudden clarity how eager he was for the battle, and that he knew he couldn't win.  That was one of the reasons he looked forward to it.  He wanted a fight, a glorious fight he could throw the remainder of his soul into like a black hole until nothing more remained but the memory of pain.

Which was exactly why I couldn't give him one.

I powered down my lightsaber, the violet blade disappearing in the hum of crystals banking their energy.  "I won't fight you, Carth."

"Jedi tricks won't work with me," he snarled.

The shifting landscape reminded me that this realm was one of illusion.  The landscape of my own memory is uncharted territory.  But Carth never lost his memories, and it was there we were trapped, hounded by illusions from his past.  Thing about illusions, is that there's always an illusionist hiding somewhere behind the mirrors, and if you look hard enough, you can see through the tricks to the little man behind the curtain.

Carth raised the blades.  I closed my eyes, unable to trust them.  My feelings told a much different story.

A thin thread of love, stretched to capacity, reached out to my heart from a great distance, through something dense and malevolent.

I felt the rush of air as a blade passed over my skin, close enough to shave my topknot under the thong.  Other threads, dim and distant, the yellow of Bastila, thready and weak, the bright blue of Juhani, and the green of Jolee danced at the edges of my senses.  Further still were Mission, faltering, and Canderous, determined, held outside the Force, yet still within it.  I felt other presences, too.  Angry red Sith energies, pale Republic energies, lush multicolored textures of the planetary jungle.

_That's not what I'm looking for_, I thought.  I searched closer to where I sensed Carth.  The black, malevolent presence wanted to swallow me, take what I was and use it to feed itself.  Every instinct in me screamed to fight it.

Illusion relies on the observer's willing participation, and the Jedi Council could attest that I was by nature extremely difficult in that area.  I dove into the presence, aiming directly for the darkest part I could find.

I expected to be pulled in by that gravitic presence, devoured.  I was hoping for it.  Instead, it balked.  _Come on_, I thought at it.  _You are what you eat, so take a bite out of me_.

I pushed past a barrier into the dark heart of the presence and paused.  The heartstring that led me to Carth snapped back and I found him, close by, but weakened, separated by a barrier of ancient, implacable evil.  I approached that dark heart and faced it, blind.

"You have something of mine.  I want it back."

* * *


	36. Nexus of Power

A/N: The next installment in the infant Hutt that is this story.  Special thanks to all who reviewed, either here, through email, or at www.kotorfanfic.com.  Aroseb - I'm just as awed by your story.  Don't sell yourself short.  Nima Onasi - I emailed you...can't tell you how grateful I am that you've continued to read and review.  Myxale - thank you.  I wish I could say it was easy, but it's about as easy as bleeding all over my keyboard. g  Shadow39, thank you.  Winterfox - thank you for the glowing review!  And yes, my memory failed me on Jagi and Selene.  About Master Vandar--I plead poetic license...I figured if it looked like a duck and walked like a duck, it ought to talk like one, too. g

Nexus of Power

Bastila

The Force ejected me with head-splitting pressure.  I lay on the ground, staring blankly up at Canderous.  "I can't," I said brokenly.  I am a failure as a Jedi.  The Council was right to send me here.  A suicide mission would save them the trouble of having to expel me, and ensure I didn't fall to the Dark Side.

Through the stone doorway, I saw a woman, a Force-adept from the look of her, bent over a large obsidian slab on which a body rested.  "Dustil!" I gasped.

"What?  Oh, for--_Mandalore's mother_!  Between him and Little Blue, I've had it with teenagers."  He brought the repeater up and set to aim for the woman.

Just then, the Sith Witch raised her arms and a maelstrom sprang to life, whipping through the room.  The torches guttered and even in the hallway we could feel the wind from her energy, sucking the air into the room.

I understood then.  This place was some sort of  collector of Dark Side energies.  As Jedi become one with the Force when their lives end, so the Sith become one with the Dark Side, and according to their beliefs, never die.  "She's building power--calling on the Dark Side," I said hoarsely.  "This place is like the Star Forge.  A nexus."

"Speak to me in my language."  Canderous crouched next to me.  "Where do I shoot?"

Through eyes squinted to protect me from the dust, I saw Carth leap forward.  He engaged the Sith witch with swords, but some sort of fog surrounded them.  The witch used a black-bladed Sith sword against Carth, landing several blows true.  I winced, prepared to hear his cries of pain, but the fight continued in an eerie silence.

"Perhaps defeating the Sith witch will diffuse the nexus."  I grasped at any straw available.

He snorted.  "I don't know who you've been adventuring with, sister, but things don't happen that way around us.  Get this blockage down, now!  I can't just stand around while Republic gets his ass kicked.  Revan'll have my hide."

I shook my head.  He still assumed we would emerge alive from this place.  "This place is too strong in the Dark Side.  I would be overwhelmed."  Every horrible self-doubt I'd ever felt about myself pushed its insidious way into my mind.  The lives of three Jedi, two warriors, children, and a struggling settlement rested on my shoulders, and I failed them.  May as well try carrying a full-grown rancor on a lattice of sugar-straw candy.

Canderous shook me until my teeth rattled in my head.  "Snap out of it, Princess!  You're the only one who can do this."

"I'm not strong enough to defeat that thing.  I'm barely holding onto consciousness as it is."  The Dark Side energies building around the Sith witch pulled at me with burning claws.  I kept my eyes open wide, because every time I closed them, the dark pull sucked me under.

"You are as dense as permacrete!" he said harshly.  He pulled grenades from the bandolier across his chest and looked down at me.  His features were stark, hewn from stone and iron more durable than the crumbling temple around us, and infinitely more implacable.  Merciless.  "I don't know the clever words like Noura does, and I'm not full of Republic platitudes like Onasi, but I know the language of battle, and I recognize it when a warrior possesses a core of fire so hot it forges unbreakable blades."

"I'm not strong like Revan.  I'm weak."

He tossed a grenade into the room . Over the explosive sound of the grenade, he laughed bitterly and shouted, "Do you really believe I'd let a weak woman into my bed, Princess?"  He began to fire the repeater, uncaring that his blaster bolts were sucked harmlessly into the maelstrom.  "Do you really think a weak woman would survive it?"

* * *


	37. Identities

Identities

Juhani

The rakghoul's severed head morphed on the dank sewer floor in front of her. She braced herself for another lance of pain at seeing her master's lifeless eyes staring accusedly up at her, but her torture was not yet complete.

The eyes of the rakghoul snapped open and Revan's voice came from its lips.  "Juhani," she said.

Juhani cried out. _Not this_!  Striking down her master was one thing, but striking down her savior, who had lifted her up from squalor and slavery into the intoxicating joy of communion with the Force as a Jedi--it was too much to bear.

"Juhani!" The rakghoul with Revan's voice said again.  The beast's red eyes cooled into the sabercrystal gleam of Revan's and Juhani moaned, dropping her lightsaber.  _It is good that I am defeated here, by beasts, when I am a beast myself._

"You are not a beast!" Revan shouted from the rakghoul's head.  "You can fight through this.  I believe in you, Juhani."

She huddled in on herself.  "No, stop!  I beg you."  Revan's belief in her was fool's faith.

"You stop, Juhani!"  Revan said.  "Remember who and what you are!  This isn't real."

"No!  Go away," she shouted miserably from the safe prison of her own hands.

"I thought cats could see in the dark," she said.  "Look through the dark, Juhani.  Don't make me have to hunt down cat toys to lure you back to me."

Juhani's head jerked up.  Only Noura would say something as bizarre and silly as that at a time like this.  "Noura?" she whispered.  "I am trapped here."

"We're all trapped.  But if we work together, we can set ourselves free."

She believed her, but how?

"Juhani?"

"I am right here," she said, calming herself.  "But the sewers, they are different."

"I can't see you," Revan said.  "And I'm not in the sewers, I'm on top of the Rakatan temple."

"We are each in prisons of our own choosing."  Rakghouls roared from the other end of the sewer tunnel.

"I picked a hell of a prison, then," Jolee's voice came to her from the rakghouls at the tunnel's end.

"It does not disappear when I close my eyes," Juhani said.

"It's not real," Revan said.  "Or rather, the context isn't real.  We have to find its source."

She opened her eyes to see the mouth of the tunnel foaming with rakghouls. Laughter she had thought silenced on Korriban sounded as Xor's mocking voice echoed down the tunnel.  "I believe I can see the source here."  

She sprang to her feet and called her lightsaber.  _I am not an animal.  I am a Cathar.  And a Jedi_.

* * *


	38. Frailty

Frailty

Bastila

Of all the things that I thought might knock me out of the black spiral that pulled me downward, being told I'm good in bed by a Mandalorian wasn't one of them.

I had gone to him in the absence of self-respect and he returned what was lost tenfold.  I laid my cheek on the cold, damp stones of the tunnel floor and let the Force pull me under.

I found myself in the chambers of the Jedi Council on Dantooine.  Master Vrook stood over me, his features a mask of implacability, yet radiating disapproval.  "Fallen," he spat, turning away.

"Such a waste," Master Vandar said.

"My fears have been confirmed," Master Zhar shook his head sadly.  One by one, they left the chambers, and the place began to shake around me.  The earth trembled and shuddered, and I smelled the burning ozone acridness of energy fire, the size of which could only come from orbit.  Malak and the Sith Fleet were attacking!

I tried to rise, to run, to join the frantically fleeing people in the hallways outside, but my legs would not hold me.  My strength had been in the Jedi Code, and the Council's faith in me, and now I had none.

The lights flickered and went out, and I was alone, weak, in the darkness.

I curled in on myself as the building shuddered and rocked, the distant screams of people and thud of planetary blaster fire echoing in my ears and sending shockwaves through the floor.

Hazy smoke of plascrete dust filtered into the room, and a figure emerged from the shadows.  "Well, well, well.  The princess has been tossed from her throne at last."

I knew that voice.  Knew it too well.

"Did you honestly believe the Council would welcome you back a sinner?"  Her mocking words pierced my ears.  "Did you really think you could return to ignorant innocence after tasting the power of the Dark Side?"

"No," I moaned.  "I asked forgiveness."

Her mocking laughter rang through the Chamber.   "There is no forgiveness for one such as yourself!  The Council is wise to quarantine your poison, keep it away from their vaunted halls."

She was right, of course.  The Council was correct to protect the Order from a hazard such as myself.  My vision wavered, and the chamber walls became liquid, melting in on themselves.  I heard a new voice.  "Join me."

"Revan?"

My tormenter laughed again, and the walls returned to solid.  "Yes, the great redeemed one.  They welcome her back with open arms.  But there is only room for one prodigal to return to the fold."

Revan.  The Council had--wait.  No.  The voice was wrong.  The Council wanted to keep me.  Revan had fought to take me away from them.  Revan wanted to give me back my humanity, asked me to trust her.  "Revan!" I shouted.

My torturer shrieked back.  "Fool!  No one cares for your fate!"

But she did not scream loud enough.  From a great distance, Revan's voice came through faintly.  "It's not real!"

_You're mine, too, Bastila_.  Her words on the Star Forge returned to my mind, as if pushed there.

Of course!  The Force-bond.  But I was trapped in nothing but the Force.  

A glistening, tenuous tendril no more substantial than spidersilk appeared before me.  I took the lifeline and fought to bring my useless limbs under me, and after an agonizing eternity of white-hot pain, rose to my feet.  I faced my tormentor. My lightsaber was in my hand--how did it get there?  I raised it and the blue glow flickered to life.

At the hands of Darth Malak, I fell to the Dark Side.  I was lured, tempted, tricked unawares.

Now I know what the Dark Side looks like.  I brought my lightsaber down in an arc that cut cleanly through the torso of the woman standing before me.

The Dark Side looks like me.

Even cut down, my tormentor still had weapons at her disposal.  "You are nothing but a spoiled Jedi princess," she hissed at me.  Wearing my face, using my voice, and speaking words that articulated the deepest fears of my heart.  "You play at understanding the Jedi Code when there is too much blood on your hands to ever make the Masters welcome you back."

I could not kill her.  Even in pieces, she still taunted me.  I ran from the crumbling enclave chambers.  The hallway outside the chamber stretched out in familiar panels of native wood and woven-grass wicker, and I ran as fast as my weak knees would carry me.  The corridor stretched on, endlessly, but anywhere was better than that council chamber. 

Ahead of me, the wickered wall bulged out and I watched in horror as my dark twin emerged from the wall itself.  "You can't hide from me."

I stopped short and turned around.  She could only be in one place at a time, right?

She stood before me, the mocking smile on her lips and calculating frigidity in her gaze.  "Spoiled princess, amusing herself with delusions of authority.  You fell as soon as you tired of playing mission leader."

Against my will, I argued with her.  "No!  I sacrificed myself for the mission."

"Indeed?"  She raised an eyebrow.  "You 'sacrificed' yourself to an enemy you knew wanted you alive all along, in an effort that was unnecessary.  Revan was holding her own against Malak, and you knew it."

"No," I whispered, shaking my head.  Revan's voice in my mind kept insisting, _it's not real, it's not real_, but she didn't understand.

The walls, the enclave, the sound of planetary laser fire in the distance and explosions in the vicinity didn't have to be real.  But what I faced--the ugly, twisted, bitter woman who faced me no matter where I turned--she was real.  She was me.

Around me, the walls began to burn.  I expected to feel heat, but nothing pervaded my internal chill.  It wasn't real.  Once I recognized that, the scenery was no longer necessary.  Only my other self remained.  "I've tried to atone," I said weakly.

"By flogging yourself with a Mandalorian whip?"  She laughed.  "You lie to yourself even here, in the Force, where all is revealed."

My jaw worked soundlessly.  Before me, her features twisted and morphed into Juhani's.  "Why did you seek out Canderous?" she asked in that lilting Cathari accent.

I could not bear for anyone to know the secret shame of my baser needs.  I should be above all that.  "I was misguided," I said feebly.

"Liar," she parried, and twisted into Mission.  "Why Canderous, huh?"

I shrank from her.  If anything, my selfish actions hurt her the most.  Turned her from me when we'd just earned each other's tentative respect.  "Mission, I--he--"

"Not that I blame you," she said, shrugging.  "If someone looked at me the way he looks at you, I think I'd take him up on whatever he wanted to offer me."

"Mission!" I said, horrified.  She was so young, so innocent.  "You shouldn't speak of such things.  You shouldn't even know of such things!"

She laughed harshly.  "That's rich.  I shouldn't know, but I do, and you should know, but you can't even _buy _a clue!  How could you, kept in that tower and raised by sexless automatons?"

"I--"

"How many times did you envy the other apprentices when they snuck away in pairs at night?"

"I never--"  _Remember, it isn't Mission!_

"Liar."

_By the Force, not you.  _I looked up into Canderous's face.  Suddenly, I had my answer.  "Because I'm like you!" I screamed like a banshee at him.

He laughed.  "You?  Like me?  Hiding behind your Jedi platitudes?  Denying your nature?  You insult me."

Revan's voice assaulted me next.  "Maybe while you were so busy lecturing me, you should have listened to yourself."

"I was," I protested, realizing a truth previously hidden from me.  "The teachings were my refuge."

I faced myself again.  "Your refuge has been taken away from you.  You are nothing.  Useless princess of an imaginary kingdom."

* * *


	39. Unforgiven

Unforgiven

Carth

Blackness surrounded me, black washed with blood and lit by fire.  The temple called to me, I knew I would find answers there.  Absolution.  The voices in my head grew louder, more insistent.  _Go to the temple.  Seek the power that is there.  Take the power and never have to hide the darkness again_.

_Revan, Revan, where is Revan?  _A small voice in the back of my mind persisted in asking.  Revan was lost, brought low from within, trapped in a place I couldn't reach.  _Why must it always be like this?_

Perhaps they die in your arms because your touch is murder.

The Dark Jedi I killed in the jungle.  I slipped an arm around her waist like a lover and slit her throat like a killer and the life left her while I held her in my arms.

My companions, the broken Jedi and the clanless Mandalorian, were lost behind me.  They fought to survive their battles.  They wasted time.  I forged ahead, taking a direct route to the temple as if pulled.  The Sith that stepped into my path were cut down and stepped over, I could spare no effort for hatred or remorse, simply the consuming need to be in the temple, at the center of the darkness.  My path was straight and true, unhindered by self-preservation.

It is amazing how much better a fighter can be made of a man when the defensive instinct is removed.  I know this.  I have lived it before.

The tattoo burns a hole in my chest as testament.

I reached the temple tunnels, and the voice in my head urged me on.  _Down_, it said, _to the real seat of power_.  The upper levels are there simply for show, for the primitive natives, the expendables who require little more than a simple display to be convinced to die for a god-on-earth.

The underground cavern yawned before me, but not unoccupied.  A usurper lurked within, called by my power nexus.  I stalked forward to the priestess responsible for the breach and engaged her, knowing it was too late--her rituals had already allowed the usurper a toehold into my domain.

The force of her weapon staggered me, limited in power as I was, until allies joined the battle with grenades and blaster fire.  I fought for what seemed forever, feeling the body-blows the witch rained down on me, yet heeding them not.

Then suddenly, my blades found their way home, and she dropped before me.  Objective achieved, my arms hung loose at my sides.  Such is the way after battles fought in the manner I was fighting.

It is always a disappointment to learn I have survived.

I looked towards what the usurper had wrought.  The apprentice lay chained to the slab.  I knew who he was.  He didn't belong here, not in this scenario.  I am Unforgiven.  There is no one left to forgive me.

I brought my blades down on the chains that held him, heedless of the cries of the voice in my head that screamed for me to leave him where he lay.

He sat up slowly, staring at me.  "Dad?"

It couldn't be Dustil, I thought.  _It's a trick, a trick to make you deny your guilt, to leach the fury out of you that is your strength_.

//Kill the apprentice.//  The thought enters my mind like a command I can't help but heed.  I will do this, or die trying.  It is the way of the Unforgiven.

I am Unforgiven. 

* * *


	40. Allies

Allies

Dustil

_//Someone whose help you can't refuse.//_

Dustil's hands numbed as Xartha began to chant.  His vision grayed with the building pressure surrounding the altar.  Something massive and incorporeal pressed in on him, trying to shove its way into him at the cellular level.  

Xartha leaned over him and smiled a dark smile.  He fought for breath as her dark eyes flashed with red light. "Let it in," she said encouragingly.  "You are strong enough to hold it, but you cannot resist it.  Become one with it and it will give you great power."  _Which I will take_, she did not say out loud.

He turned away from her, inside himself.  _There are no free lunches in this galaxy_, he thought to the presence inside him.  _What do you want from me in return?_

_//You will carry me.//_

_Huh?_

_//Be my vessel, and I will train you.//_

Did he not have enough teachers already?  By Ajunta Pall's ghost, they were lining up to teach him a thing or two, weren't they?

_//Steady, young one.  I wish to take you as my apprentice, not as my punching bag.//_

_Again, with the apprentice crap.  I'm not one of those kind_, he thought desperately.  _Why do people keep thinking I am?_

_//Perhaps they know more than you.//  _The mild amusement coming from the presence irked him.  _//Do not presume to tell a Jedi Master what an apprentice looks like.//_

_You're a--Jedi?  _Good thing he was already flat on his back, otherwise, he'd have dropped like a rock on a high-gravity world.

_//I am somewhat...limited.  You can change that.//_

_And you'd be willing to train me.  Why?  _Did the presence, rattling around in his head, fail to note that he'd once been the poster-boy for the Sith Youth Movement?

_//It has not escaped me.//_

_So why, then?_

The mood of the presence turned sad.  _//I have some experience in facing the teachings of the Sith.  I have had quite a bit of time to consider the ways to counteract them.//_

_But why me? Is it just because I'm here?  _It was becoming harder and harder to think.  The weight of the presence outside of him now conflicted actively with the weight of his inner stowaway.  He was detecting flat notes in Xartha's singsong chanting and really thought the Dark Jedi ought to have taken a little voice instruction before her bid for power.

_//Is it not a greater challenge to create something beautiful from that which is base, rather than refined?//_

Dustil sucked in a breath.  _You're losing me there.  It's a little hard to concentrate right now_.

_//Allow me to clarify.  You are no innocent.  You will not make the same mistakes as an innocent.//_

_No, I'll make new and better ones, I'd expect._

_//Yes.  But you already possess the temperament to learn from those mistakes.//_

The stray ideas he'd had aboard the Ebon Hawk returned to him.  Of being like the Jedi, of sensing there was more to be aware of, and that his sometimes uncanny luck had more of a sense to it than just plain old luck.  But thinking of the Ebon Hawk made him think of Mission, and how he betrayed her.  She was going to wake up one seriously-irked Twi'lek--

_//She will not wake.//_

A spike of sick terror lanced through him.  _What do you mean, she won't wake?  _He didn't know what he did to her, back there in the jungle, but he knew he hadn't killed her.  She'd been breathing--shallowly, but evenly.

_//You took something from her.  Search into your heart.  That is my price for your training.//_

_I can't give you Mission!  She isn't mine to give._

_//You must relinquish your hold on her.//_

_Gladly_, he thought.  _I didn't mean to take it anyway._

_//That, too, however I am speaking of the other hold.//_

He suddenly knew what the Master was talking about.  The way Mission's grin turned wicked when she found the solution to a problem, especially if it involved slicing a computer or breaking into somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.  The way she blushed a deep azure like the color of Korriban's sky at dusk in the autumn.  _You know_, he thought to the Master, _she's never going to forgive me for this anyway._

_//You must surrender your feelings for her, not hers for you.//_

_I--  _Here, he lost his train of thought.  _I can't just give them up...I don't know how._

_//I said surrender them.  Your first lesson, after we get out of here, will be with a dictionary, young one.//_

_Hey, I haven't agreed to anything yet._

_//Yes you have.  Realize it and we shall move on.  Time is leaving us.//_

His eyes had been closed for the better part of the conversation, but now he opened them again, and found that Xartha's hideous beauty no longer faced him from up close.  He heard the clang of swords and turned his head to see a dense fog surrounding her and her opponent, a man in black armor.  A man--  "_Dad?_" he groaned in a hoarse whisper.  It was all he could muster against the pressure.

Xartha was a Dark Jedi and a Sith Witch.  His dad would never stand a chance against her!  _Master?_

_//You are ready?//_

_Let's do this._

His head exploded.

* * *


	41. Nobility

Nobility

Bastila

The silken thread of the Force-bond trembled, and I heard Revan's voice, this time from far away.  "Remember who you are, Bastila."

_I don't _know _who I am_, I thought desperately.  I thought I was a Jedi above reproach, and I ended up the weakest of the lot of us.  I thought I was clever and brave, but I was cowardly and self-motivated.  I thought I was serene, but passions burn holes in my soul.  

My dark twin circled around me.  "There is only one path open to one such as yourself," she said, malice dripping from her tone.

"I will not fall to the Dark Side again," I said stonily.

She laughed.  "You are already there, wallowing in it as you wallow in the blood on your hands.  Accept it.  The Jedi Princess is no more."

I looked down at my hands.  I washed them at the stream, I know I did.  But my palms were crimson, dripping rivulets running down my wrists to tickle my forearms.  I swallowed.

Had I embraced the Dark Side when I put my hands in the blood on the ground?  I didn't even realize it.  I am the greatest of fools, too caught up in a shared memory with Canderous to pay attention to my own fall.

"These are the wages of attachments," my other self said.  "You betray them, and they return the favor.  All because you were weak enough to want to belong."

I nodded.  "I know," I said softly.  The Council had been right all along.  Attachments led to the Dark Side.  If only I'd resisted.

_Do you truly regret us? _Revan asked through the bond.

Her words halted me in my self-abusive tracks.  I began to see my longing to return to the person I once was, a pure and noble desire I believed, with opened eyes. The bond with Revan, the friendships with Carth and Mission, awkward as they were.  The understanding I had of Canderous.  Could I return to believing he was simply a violent brute and the galactic opposite of myself?

"No," I said aloud.  Dark mist swirled around me, obscuring me from the negative-image of myself.  

_Arrogant.  Princess.  Spoiled.  Impetuous.  Power-hungry.  Violent_.  The accusations of my shortcomings assaulted me.  "Get up, Princess," my negative-image spat.

I felt the presences of the other Jedi with me, yet unseen.  I could hear Juhani's Cathar war cry as if she stood next to me, yet there was no battle I could fight in the black place I was.  Next to me, I felt Revan's presence, strong and sure, yet I could not reach out to take her hand.  Jolee's voice echoed in my ear as if he stood next to me.  It was his voice that snapped me out of the black fog.

"Wookiee Troubadors!"

The last of the scales fell from my eyes.  Even the deepest of my mental insecurities wouldn't generate the image that brought up.

Her accusations were all true.  I am all those things.  But I cannot help being what I am.  I can only acknowledge it.  Perhaps I have failed to learn the true lesson of the masters--not to deny my shortcomings, but to acknowledge them, and learn in spite of them.

To realize the value in them, even if that value is only recognition of a weakness.  And to turn that weakness inside-out.  I reached out to my dark twin and embraced her.

"I'm no princess anymore," I said.  My maleficent double began to burn then, from inside out.  The illusion fell away, leaving me huddling cold, naked, and small before the spirit that lived in this place.

But not alone.

"I'm a queen."  

* * *


	42. Adversaries

A/N: Okay, I originally planned to cut off this week's installment at the last chapter, but I realized I couldn't leave everybody hanging thinking that Dustil's head had really exploded. g  I hope you all will bear with me...the chapters have been shorter of late, because the action's all happening at once.  Please, please, please drop a review in the box--for just pixels a day, you, too, can feed a starving fanficcer.

Adversaries

Dustil

A brightness, unlike anything outside the hearts of stars, burned through him, bringing with it heat that crisped him from inside out. Yet he remained conscious, and alive through it all, looking down on himself like a spectator in the back balcony of a holovid theater.

He watched his father strike down Xartha.  How'd he do that?

_//He didn't.//_

_But I--_

_//Time for your first lesson, Apprentice.  Use logic and your senses.//_

He cast about for the meaning of the Master's words.  Carth strode towards the altar where he lay manacled and brought his vibroblades up.  His father's eyes were burned holes of blackness in his face, and Dustil understood.  _Looks like you're not the only incorporeal one here_, he thought.

Carth brought the blades down on the chains binding him and shattered them.  Dustil peeled himself away from the frigid slab and the rushing wind engulfed him.

He dropped to his knees, buffeted by it.  Carth tracked his movements like a hunter.  _He's going to kill me_, Dustil realized.  _Whatever it is that's riding him won't stop until he's dead or I am._

_//Steady.//_

Dustil reached for the Sith sword and pried it from Xartha's dead fingers.  Not exactly a lightsaber, the weapon was forged using Sith alchemy the likes of which hadn't been seen in millenia.  The blade burned cold and seemed to suck in what little light there was around them.  A darksaber, then.  The irony was not lost on him.  _Master?  You know I was ready to kill my father once, don't you?_

_//Yes.  Without reason.  Now you have reason.  And the reason is eminently valid.  What will you do?//_

Carth raised the blades and with a hoarse cry, leapt towards him, murder in his eyes.

* * *


	43. Illusion

A/N: Here it is, folks.  Resolutions to the cliffhanger.  I sincerely hope I didn't cheese it.

Reviewer thanks: Myxale, I'm the head forklift operator in the Canderous/Bastila shipping department!  And you mean there are other things besides writing and breathing?  Akasha15, thanks, I think :D  Nima, Solo7MBP, and Shadow39, your comments as always, are appreciated muchly.  Winterfox, when I get writer's block, it means there's something wrong with the story, and I have to go back and find where it went wrong.  Aroseb, that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said about my writing!   RomanMachine, welcome aboard and thanks for the kind words and 'shipping support!

Illusion

Revan

The dark heart of the ancient presence surrounded me, throbbing and evil, festering in the fetid heat of the jungles for who knew how long.  I faced it, stripped of every illusion about myself and every illusion about the universe, and the presence before me.

I have been stripped bare before.  I'm getting used to the breeze.

"Wookiee Troubadors!"

Jolee's presence rushed to my side.  I received impressions--old hurts and aches surfacing, a lifetime's hard lessons put to use in service to what is right as opposed to what is good.

"What the hell was that all about?" I asked him.

I felt Juhani break through the barrier next.  She burned proud and strong.  _That's my girl_, I thought.  Now if only one of us could figure out how to defeat this thing standing in our way.

"It is too large to fight," Juhani said.  "It feeds on darkness and violence.  To fight it is to lose to it."

"It's got Carth in there somewhere," I said.  Cold anger came readily to me, a dangerous thing here in the heart of darkness.

"Do I have to tell you again how passion and love can be confused?"

"No, old man.  But feel free to yell out some ideas for fighting something you can't fight.  I seem to be tapped out at the moment."

"I fought Nayama," Jolee said.  "When I should have done.  The illusion splintered and Wookiee troubadors started singing."

"That's appalling," I said.

"Absurd," Juhani said.  "Xor waited for me.  I spoke words of forgiveness to him and he became a Twi'lek dancing girl with a slave collar.  What did you see?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said.  Though we floated in a formless void, my mind was more than ready to bring back the image of a tortured Carth, kneeling in the hot, dry dirt of that world while a laser burned evidence of the final death of his hope.  The heartstring that bound us together was so thin, barely a filament that seemed to stretch closer to its breaking point the more I tried to protect it.  Oddly enough, the Jedi Code surfaced to keep me from panic.  _Fear leads to suffering_.  I can't act out of fear.

"Something prevented us from complete annihilation, trapped us in the illusion," Juhani said.  "What if the illusion was to protect us?"

I felt around blindly for some sort of message from the Force.  The Force coalesced in response, into a sensory-rich fluid stream with a unique and familiar flavor.  "Bastila," I said.  "The Force-bond between us.  She said on Dantooine it's like a physical thing between us.  Here in the Force, it _is _physical.  See?"  I held up a hand, and rivulets of life spiraled out from my fingertips before merging back into the glittering stream of Force stretching from me to wherever Bastila was.  Yet even as I watched, the river of light thinned to nothing but a trickle.

My guts went cold.  "Bastila!"

_She's annoying and spoiled and stuck-up and my polar opposite, but dammit, she's mine, and I'm not giving her up. _I put my hand into the trickle and grasped whatever I could.  "Come on, Bastila, come back to me."

The river grew thicker, until it threatened to engulf me, and a golden light shot past us into the darkness.  "Bastila!"

"I am here," she said, her tone unusually regal.  "We cannot fight this thing, but we can bind it as I bound you."

"The illusion traps," Juhani said.  "We must cast out our own Force-bonds and subdue this thing before it devours us."

"You are correct, Juhani."

"Welcome back, young lady," Jolee said.

I said nothing.  There was something subtly different about Bastila now.  She had come to some sort of peace with herself.  She--_tasted _is the only word I can use--deeper.  Canderous ought to be here to appreciate the moment.  I found her hand inside that Force-river.

"I have been down in this blackness before," she said.  

I laced my fingers into hers.  Juhani took her other hand.  "As have we.  We can help you find the way back."

Jolee joined us, taking Juhani's and my hands.  "First thing you do when you find yourself in a deep hole--"

"--is quit digging." I said with him.  As one, we turned our attention to the presence that howled and raged around us, and began the laborious process of Force-binding it.

* * *


	44. Swordfall

Swordfall

Dustil

"I will not fight you, Father," Dustil said calmly.  Carth brought the swords down in a flurry that Dustil parried, every strike jarring him to his shoulders.  He wished for his blasters.

On Korriban, his Dad toted blasters, one custom-made and upgraded, yet with a handgrip worn smooth to fit into his father's hand as if it had grown there.  Come to think of it, maybe he ought to be grateful for swords.  He didn't seem to be doing too badly.  The Master sharing his brainspace may have had something to do with that.

He parried and blocked his father's maddened slashes.  Carth was not fighting defensively, and he saw several opportunities where he could have ducked in and slashed, but he stayed himself, controlled his instincts ruthlessly, rather than strike his father down.

He had a sudden vision of himself and his father, like two mythical titans from stories of old, falling into a bottomless pit, destined to clash forever as they fell.  His world narrowed down to the next slash, the next parry.  Just one more deflection, one more block.  Swing, beat, turn, sidestep, twist.  Like a dance, until one of them missed a step and lost a limb.

_If that's the price I'm to pay_, he thought, _so be it_.  _If I can't escape the Sith, I guess I have to accept their legacy, too, and both life and death by swordfall are quick and merciful.  I'm sorry, Master.  I'll probably serve the shortest apprenticeship you've ever seen._

All he had to do was simply fail to parry the next blow.

The whine of a heavy repeater powering up gave both fighters pause.  The big Mandalorian from the Ebon Hawk stood in the doorway, supporting a mostly-unconscious Bastila in one arm, and the galaxy's biggest gun in the other.  _Wow_, he thought disconnectedly, _he can lift that thing one-handed_.

_//Now, my apprentice.  Let me out.//_

Dustil did as his master told him, and his head imploded this time.  Carth's blades both came down on the Sith blade, shattering it.  _This is it_, he thought.  "Father," he said.

Carth stood over him with his blades.  Dustil dropped the useless hilt of the Sith sword and reached out a hand.  His actions and voice powered by the Master in his head, he summoned a gathering of the Force.  Tucked away, Dustil marveled.  _I had no idea it was this big_, he thought.  Through his mouth, the master intoned, "You cannot win."

His hand came into contact with his father's chest, and the master said, "Let it go.  Accept it."

His vision blurred, and his eyeballs turned inside out as his consciousness opened up and touched every living thing in the entire galaxy.  An incredible connection to everything where sound, light, and smells assaulted him.  His tongue went numb as a thousand thousand different flavors washed through his mouth.  His skin swelled and burst with the excruciating sensation of every nerve ending firing off at once.  Yet at the same time, his focus tunneled until he contemplated a single atom from a great distance, in endless insensate peace.

Then it all started to move.  The massive life energy began to flow from him to his father.  The incredible pressure in the room receded.  Carth let out an anguished cry and Dustil shuddered at the sound, his senses already stretched to a breakpoint.

It sounded like a man whose soul is being ripped out of him slowly.

_//Not ripped out.  Put back in.// _

* * *


	45. Awakening

Awakening

Revan

The blackness dissolved.  Just like that.  All of a sudden, the balance shifted and I was ejected from that non-space and back into my body with a jolt.

I bolted upright to see--and smell--a very enraged Wookiee swinging a ceremonial blade at a squadron of Sith.  The blaster fire coming from behind me was punctuated with sounds of synthesized glee.  "Exclamation: Spurt fluids, organic meatbag scum!"

My head swam with the sudden uprightness and I rolled over slowly.  The blaster fire ceased and I felt the impact of an armored body drop very close to me.  I stared up into the implacable face of a shiny Sith armor helmet with nothing more than an empty shell inside it, two smoking holes that stunk of burning flesh sprouting from the chest.  I groaned.

Zaalbar let out an overjoyed warble.  [You live!]

"I'll get back to you on that," I said, looking around.  Sith corpses littered the greenery around us, but Jolee and Juhani were shaking their heads.  I rose unsteadily to my feet, thoughts of Carth and Bastila spurring me on.  "Mission?"

[She sleeps still.]

I glanced towards the huddled form.  "We need to move," I said.  "Down in the canyon.  Our friends need us."  I crouched next to Jolee and held my hands out.  I called on the Force and felt the cool flow, no longer poisoned, move through me and into him, healing him. "You okay, old man?" I asked.  His words to me while we were trapped--_I fought Nayama_--filled me with intense sadness for him.

He waved a hand.  "Do you think I haven't played that scene out a million times on my own?  Hell, I dealt myself worse than anything that--thing could throw at me."

"But--Wookiee troubadors?"

"Have you ever heard a Wookiee sing a love ballad?"  He sat up slowly.  "They're a very earthy species."

"Eww."  Sometimes it's better not to know.

Juhani rolled to her stomach and came up in a crouch, stretching her legs individually, first one, then the other.  "I forgave Xor, released the past, and I saw him as a slave himself, imprisoned by his own hatred."

Jolee patted her shoulder.  "Now you see how the Dark Side masks weakness with the illusion of strength."

"Speaking of strength," I said.  "We need to lend ours to our friends down there.  HK?"

The mechanical assassin perked up.  "Statement: I am ready to serve, Master."

"Bring firepower.  Zaalbar, bring Mission.  Let's move."  Overhead, I heard the scream and whine of repulsor engines from a troop transport.  "The Republic's sending reinforcements.  The Sith must be crawling all over the place."

"Statement: Affirmative, Master.  From their comm chatter, it appears they have established a base in the canyon."

"All the more reason to head down, then," I said.

We'd made it halfway down, picking our way in and out of clearings, animal paths, and artificial dead spots smoking with recent blaster fire when I heard the scream.  It ripped through the trees and lanced through my mind.  "Carth!"

The Masters counsel us not to love, because love, besides being the savior of humanity, can also make humans do very stupid things.  I took off ahead, my lightsaber at the ready, careening down the hill and towards the sound of the scream.

The jungle proved my downfall, and taught the lesson the Masters' lectures never could.  I tripped over a bulbous root and rolled headlong into a thicket of thorny brush, which gave way to a three-meter deep pit full of sharpened stakes--a primitive trap, but effective.  The Force was with me--because the universe must have a soft spot for lovesick fools--and I narrowly missed being impaled through something major.  My rear end, however, was not so lucky and I felt the sharp hot pain of wood cleaving through muscle and tissue.

My vision grayed, and it was only the worried warble of Zaalbar that brought me around.  I hung upside down in the pit, pinned by the stake through my left buttock.

"That'll teach you to run off half-cocked, won't it, Missy?" Jolee said.

I whimpered.

Muttering about damned incompetent fools, he closed his eyes and linked hands with Juhani.  Together, they lifted me and my impaled rear end out of the pit.  Zaalbar had the honor of holding me down while he removed the stake.  I didn't scream.  I knew I deserved whatever I got, but I kept quiet mostly because I passed out.

* * *


	46. Reunification

Reunification

Carth

I was lost, small, drowning in blackness, sucking it in like oxygen from a breather mask, the cruel image of my own son facing me with a sword in his hand burning betrayal through me.  He couldn't be here, it wasn't possible.

Revan--Revan helped me save him.  But Revan was lost, far away from me, like a dream.  Of course, a dream.  My life is nothing beyond the next kill.  And that happened to be the thing that wore my lost child's face.

_He isn't lost, he isn't lost!  _I must be losing it.  Maybe this will be the final mission, the one that gets me what I wanted all along.

The one that claims my life.

I fought him with fury, egged on by the voice in my head.  The single sword of his was strong and he matched me blow for blow.  But he would not strike back, and it infuriated me.  

"Father."

_Liar!_

"You cannot win."

I brought both swords down on his and the blade shattered.  I raised my swords again.

He struck my sternum.  "Let it go.  Accept it."  _Accept who you are.  _The voice was not his, and the words ripped through my head as if they'd been thundered by a god.  Energy leapt from him to me and back, completing a circuit that burned into the darkness inside me.  I went under, into an endless sea of death and recrimination.  The tattoo on my skin radiated fury, hatred, despair.  My ribcage split apart with the force of it and the tattoo became a live thing, peeling itself apart from me, taking my skin with it.  I split into two and my own despair took on life of its own and stared back at me.

_Embrace your rage._  I felt it burning through me.  _Let it burn, and let me turn to ash_.

I felt it curl in on itself, rip itself away from me and leave me drained empty.

The pain overwhelmed me.  A scream tore from my throat and whatever it was that drove Dustil--for now I recognized my son--drove something into me as well.  Behind my eyes burned the afterimages of my own dark rage.  

I looked into it fully, for perhaps the first time in my life, and it looked back.

What remains after a man loses everything?  Nothing more than his own self, demanding acknowledgment.  I looked into my own dark soul and found a spark of love and hope, hidden beneath the black fury.  Revan was in there, waiting for me to find my way back.  Dustil, Morgana, the good men and women I served with, and called friends.  I reached for the spark.

Gray crept into my head then, not the dark fog that blurred my senses, but the blessed nothing of unconsciousness.

* * *


	47. Lost

Lost

Canderous

Ever since taking up with Revan on Taris, there hasn't been a day where I don't wake up and curse the Jedi.  Today wasn't any different, but tomorrow would be.  Tomorrow, I would thank them.

Carth Onasi fought the Sith Witch in the chamber and I brought the repeater up and fired from a ground position, my own battle cries lost in the maelstrom.  Bastila lay curled on the floor, lost in a place where I couldn't go.

The Sith Witch fell, defeated by Carth's blade.

When Carth turned on his own son, things went to hell.

I felt Bastila die in my arms.  I know a death rattle when I see one--I've delivered many of them myself.  But when she went down into the Force that last time--

The old warriors in our longhalls used to spin tales of the reaper of souls, that collected the spirits of the fallen from the battlefield.  The more battle a warrior had seen, the more likely he would be to recognize when the reaper of souls walked among men.  And I cannot deny that I felt the reaper place his cold hand on her brow.

I dropped my repeater.  I have seen and dealt enough death in my lifetime for grief to take on its own exquisite sense of life.  I could not ask for a more honorable death for the woman I loved, than to die in battle with clansmen at her side and enemies at her feet.

And I--I was done fighting.  Lost.

I smoothed the stray lock of hair from her forehead and tucked the war braids--oh, she called them something different, but they were battle braids to me--away from her face.  I could not regret her death, because I knew that she found the core of strength she didn't believe she had.  _Your funeral pyre will burn high enough to be seen from the Core worlds._

The maelstrom in the room quieted and whatever barrier held me back suddenly disappeared and I fell forward, sprawled next to her.

With a great gasp of air, her body jerked in my arms and her eyes shot open, staring sightlessly up while her mouth worked.  The concussion shock of the absence of pressure flattened us.  The shock jolted her out of her convulsion and she gasped weakly.  But alive.  Her blue-green eyes met mine in confusion.

"You came back," I said stupidly.  _To me_.

She smiled weakly.  "I--wh--you can't call me Princess anymore."

I must have looked as bantha-trampled as I felt, because she began to laugh.  "I'll explain later."

I stood then, hefting the repeater in one hand and holding her with the other.  "Is it gone?"

She shook her head.  "Only contained.  It is beyond our power to destroy it.  But it no longer imprisons our friends."

The clatter of swords falling drew our attention away from each other.  Dustil had his hand stretched out and seemed to be holding Carth impossibly, his palm flat against his father's chest, while the older man hung in the air, his feet not touching the floor.

I had my suspicions about the kid from the start, and I didn't trust him now.  I activated the charge on the repeater and aimed it.

He looked across the room at me, his eyes wide.

"Wait," Bastila murmured.  She stretched out a hand and the air rippled with her power.  The ripples, however, broke around the two Onasi men and she frowned.  "I don't understand--"

"Lady Jedi," Dustil spoke, but it wasn't Dustil using his voice.  "I thank you for your assistance in containment.  Your comrade has been returned to himself."

Bastila shifted in my arms until her feet touched the ground.  She peeled my arm from around her waist and walked forward.  I moved, too, unwilling to trust whatever it was speaking out of that kid's mouth.

She stared at Dustil, tilting her head this way and that.  "I sense no duplicity from you, and the taint of evil does indeed seem to be tamed.  But who are you?"

Dustil let his father go.  Onasi went down like a stone, and relieved laughter shook through me.  Thank Mandalore he was the one that dropped first.  Now I could safely fold my own shaky legs under me on the pretense of helping him out.

He groaned.

Dustil glanced down at him, concern evident on his face, but turned his attention back to Bastila.  I kept mine on the kid.

"The Dark One that attacked the hearts of your friends was once a student of mine.  I perished to defeat him, and in so doing, ended a cycle of hate.  When Jedi reappeared in his sphere of influence, we both returned to consciousness.  The presence of Sith allowed him to strengthen and feed, and soon, possess."

Dustil paused, then said, "But why my dad?"  He answered himself in that sonorous voice.  "My fallen student was once a good man.  He let fear and rage and hatred poison him. I believe he found a kindred spirit in your father."

Dustil blinked.  "I just answered myself, didn't I?"

I nodded.  "Who else is in there with you, kid?"

"Jedi Master Elled Nayal, at your service, Lord Mandalore."

I flinched, I am ashamed to say.  "You mistake me for someone I am not."

"Do I?"

I touched my repeater.  "I'm Canderous of Ordo, last of my clan."

He nodded.  "You have the look of Mandalore about you."

I shook my head.  "Mandalore was of Clan Starn.  I was one of his Generals, but no kinsman of his."

"Not in my day," the kid replied with a little smile that I instantly wanted to wipe off his face.  "The Mandalore I knew had a jaw just like yours, boy."

Being called boy by a whelp like that--I let out a low growl.

Dustil smiled again.  "Same quick temper, too, and a skull thick enough to shield against radiation."

Beside me, Onasi laughed weakly.  "That's Canderous."

"That's codswallop," I snapped.  "Mandalore hasn't been Ordo for at least five hundred standard years."

"I'd say that makes it about time for it to come around again," a voice said from the doorway.

* * *


	48. Ghosts

Ghosts

Carth

Canderous sat beside me looking as close to death as I felt.  

Revan leaned against the doorway.  Her face was pale and deep shadows lined her eyes.  She and Juhani were propping each other up.  Jolee shuffled along behind them.  "The Republic finally got off their asses and sent some reinforcements.  There are scattered Sith, but they've been routed."  She limped forward.

"Excellent," Bastila said.  

I wanted to get up, to run to Revan and take her in my arms.  But my arms wouldn't work, and neither would my legs.  Canderous pulled a medpac from a utility pocket on his belt.

"Not so much," Revan said.  She came forward and I saw that Zaalbar stood behind her, a blue and gray bundle in his arms.  "Mission is stable, but weak.  We--" here, she looked away--"we can't find her."

"That's my fault, isn't it?" Dustil said.  "This is what you meant, isn't it Master?"  He rose and strode over to the wookiee.  

Zaalbar snarled at him and held Mission away from him.  [Traitor!  We saw him free the Sith prisoners from the Republic base!  Mission followed him and I found her in the jungle with his cloak!]

Dustil nodded and hung his head.  "It's true."

Sick shock shot through me.  I remembered my fear on Rakata, the fear that Revan would fall to the Dark Side and there would be nothing I could do to save her.  That fear returned, this time for my son.

Revan flew forward and grabbed him by the neck.  "You caused this?  You freed them?  After all the trouble we went through to extract your sorry little ass from the Sith academy, you ran right back to them?"

"Squeeze harder," Canderous said.  "He's not a bright enough shade of purple."

I glared at him.  I didn't have the strength for much else.  "I hope someday you have children, Mandalorian.  Then you'll know how it feels."

He shot me a strange look and tore the medpac open.

"I--had--my--orders," Dustil gasped out.

"Revan, please," I said.  She turned towards me and I saw the exhaustion in her eyes.

She released him and Dustil dropped.  "Your orders?  You mindless little--"

"Your words flow from the dark side, young one."

"Who you calling young?" Revan shot back.  "Only Jolee gets that privilege."

Bastila cleared her throat.  "Dustil hosts the spirit of a Jedi Master several centuries old."

"Really." Revan's flat tone reminded me of Manaan, and her courtroom questioning of the Rodian the Sith paid to plant evidence against Jolee's friend.  Right before she went in for the kill.  "Then maybe the Master can put in a good word for a quick and merciful death."

"I cannot believe the Masters trained one such as yourself in the ways of the Force."

She smiled, humorless and feral.  "They did.  Twice, in fact.  And I've got to warn you, Manipulative Jedi Masters aren't real high on my list of heroes right now, so let the kid explain his own actions."

Dustil looked up at Revan.  "You really would've killed me on Korriban if I  disobeyed my father, wouldn't you?" he asked.  At her grim nod, he nodded too.  

"I can respect that," he said.  "But my orders were from Republic Intelligence.  Before the Star Forge was destroyed, there were Sith movements in this sector, but no reason for them.  The sector's a backwater, of no interest to anyone--"

"Except the Jedi," Jolee finished for him.  "Exar Kun's last stand was here.  The Jedi had to blast a crater that nearly knocked the planet out of orbit to finally take him down."

"And yet they still failed in their prime objective," Dustil's master said.

Jolee narrowed his eyes.  "Are you saying that Exar Kun lives still?"

"Not exactly.  He and his master both perished in their final duel."

"But a true Sith never dies," Revan said.  "And Jedi become one with the Force."

"The apprentice was sent to determine the nature of Sith interest in this sector."

"Hearing you refer to yourself in the third person, and in a voice that isn't yours, bothers the hell out of me.  Just so you know," Revan said.

"Deal with it," Dustil said, in his own voice, and with no incriminating pronouns.

Revan folded her arms. The tension drained out of her, and I felt my own sore muscles relax.

"That still doesn't explain what he did to Mission," Canderous said.

"Supplication: Please let me blast the schitzophrenic young meatbag, Master."

"HK, shut up!"  The red protocol-assassin droid came around the corner, his servo-driven arms laden with backpacks full of equipment.  I hoped there were more medpacs in there.  I had a feeling we were all due for a long stay in a top-flight medical facility, and maybe one with psychiatric wards as well.  Good.  I could really use the rest.

* * *


	49. Letting Go

Letting Go

Dustil

His Master spoke.  "I have taken on this one as my apprentice, and he has agreed to have me as Master."

His father went a few shades paler, if that was even possible.  "No," he said stonily.  "I won't allow it."

"Father," Dustil said, stepping closer to him.

Carth stared back, pain in his eyes.  "I lost you for so long, almost lost you again on Korriban, and almost lost you just now.  I won't allow the Jedi to take you away from me, too."

He smiled.  It was a serene smile, with the certainty of knowing the right thing behind it.  "I love you, Dad," he said.  "But it's time for me to learn what I can from Master Nayal."

His father's face twisted into a mask of confusion.  "I don't understand...you're not--your mother and I took you to the Jedi on Telos.  They said they had nothing for you there."

Dustil scratched his chin.  "Yeah.  I sort of remember.  There wasn't anything for me there...because my Master was waiting for me here."  _More literalism? _he asked his Master silently.

_//Those who say the Jedi are untrustworthy simply do not know how to see the truth in what we have to say.//_

"Dustil, I just found you again," Carth said.  "I can't lose you."

He put his hand on his father's shoulder.  "You're not losing me, Dad.  This is my destiny.  I can feel it."  He looked towards Revan, then back at his father.  "I--I did some bad things while I was on Korriban, with the Sith.  When you and Revan came--I'd thought--I thought I was doing what was right, and then you came along and showed me some ugly things but--" he sighed.  "I left the Academy because of what they did to me, not because I thought they were wrong."

"Dustil, you just need time--"

He nodded.  "I need to re-learn some stuff, too.  Master Nayal is willing to teach me, but I've got to do it on his terms."

Carth closed his eyes.  "I--I guess I understand."  He sighed heavily.  "Just spare a thought for your old man once in awhile."

Dustil smiled.  "I'll just look for trouble if I ever get homesick."

Carth's shoulders shook.  It could have been laughter or tears.  _My father is a hero_, he realized.  _The kind you read about in history holocrons_.

"Dustil," Revan said quietly.  "And Master Nayal, for as long as I have the Ebon Hawk, you've got a ride around the galaxy."

He nodded.  "I've got to report to Admiral K'tek for debriefing, and to resign my commission."

"The Republic's losing a good soldier," his father said gruffly.

His chest tightened.  He understood, finally, how much of an honor it was for his father to say that.  

"I love you, son.  I'm proud of you, too."  His father lay back on the stone floor and reached for a medpac.

Dustil put his hand out and took the pac from him.  Guided by instinct, he put his hands out over his father's body, inches from his skin, and tried to remember the feeling of connectedness he'd experienced before.

The cool tide welled inside him, traveling from his center out and down his arms, radiating from his hands.  The wounds criscrossing Carth's chest began to knit themselves at an accelerated rate.

"You must have some talent to have hidden Force-sensitivity from the Sith and the Jedi," Jolee said.

"I didn't know it, myself," he replied.  "The Force works to further its own ends," the Master's voice said.  _This is getting annoying_, he thought.

_//You made your choice, apprentice.//_

He looked at his father, struggling to sit up.  _I guess I did.  Don't make me regret it._

He approached the Wookiee.  "Zaalbar, I know you have no reason to trust me.  But I swear, as a Republic officer, and as an Onasi, I did not intend to harm Mission in any way."  How could he, when he admired her so much?

Revan put a hand on his furry arm.  "I believe him, Z.  Let him clean up his mess."

_What must I do, Master?  I don't even know what I did to her._

_//You sent her to a place where your betrayal could not hurt her.  Now you must call her back.//_

_How?  I don't know how to use the Force like that._

_//Apparently, you do, else you would not have been able to send her in the first place.  Follow your own trail.//_

He sank to his knees and took Mission's blue hand in his.  Then he closed his eyes and opened himself.

Such life!  Such energy!  The place radiated with it.  It was like being inside a holovid, with fireworks and music and flashing lights and smells and pulsing, lush energy.  _//Now find her.//_

_Mission!  Mission!  _He yelled with his mind.  A barrage of image and sounds and sensations, disjointed and incomplete, slammed into him.  There.  The lights and sounds faded and he found a small storage crate, the kind used in cargo ships across the galaxy.  He touched the lever to release the lid.

She was inside, huddled with her knees to her chest, head-tails wrapped around her arms, and arms wrapped around her knees.

"Time to come out," he said.  "I'm sorry."

She looked up at him.  "Leave me alone."

"You have friends," he said.  "Friends who need you.  They miss you.  Come back with me."

She shook her head.  "Friends betray you."

"No.  I betrayed you.  I had my reasons, but I'm sorry."

"Piss off."  There.  Some of the inconquerable Mission was emerging.

"Come back and say that out loud."  

She lunged to her feet and the box broke apart.

He was knocked out of the Force by a very real left hook to the jaw.  He sprawled backwards and hit the stone, knocking the back of his head painfully.

Mission stood over him, fists clenched, head-tails streaming out behind her, and glorious blue fury on her face.  She wove unsteadily, but her mouth set in a mulish line.  "You bastard," she said.

He nodded, not moving.  He understood what the Master wanted from him now.  He wanted to make things right with her, to spend as much time and effort as necessary for her to forgive him.

_//Your path lies elsewhere.//_

An aching sadness welled in him.  He knew the master was right.  "I'm sorry, Mission," he said again.

"Shut up," she said.  "Don't ever come near me again."

He didn't respond out loud.  _That won't be a problem_.

* * *


	50. Janitorial Services

A/N:  Special thanks go to Adria for hosting this behemoth at www.kotorfanfic.com --Adria, you are something else for feeding us Kotorians and Carthaholics!  Adria's got the best collection of KOTOR-related fanfic and fanart.  Stop by and check out her site if you're a fan of KOTOR.  I'd also like to thank everyone who sounds off every time I put up new chapters.  Knowing someone out there is reading this really means a lot to me as a writer.  I hope I continue to meet your expectations.

Review thanks: To the guest book contributors--Barachiel, Matt, Amy, Fred, Courtygurl, Linda, Jeffrey, Julie, Implode, Skydiver, Skarben, Carrie Ann, Strikeaxe, and Linda.  To the emailers: Aroseb and Nima, as always, and to my reviewers on ff.net: Sol7MBP, Shadow39, Winterfox, RomanMachine, and welcome to MadisonDesdemona--PS...MD, fear not, Mission and Dustil's story is far from over.

Janitorial Services

Revan

Mission stepped over Dustil without a backward glance.  My Jedi senses chose that moment to kick in and tell me she had a destiny of her own beyond the Star Forge.  Or maybe it was just my human senses that told me she wasn't a little girl anymore.  I balked, because I had come to think of her as my own.  She _is_ one of my own, and will always be.  "What's next?" she asked me.  It wasn't the question of a kid.

"I'm betting somebody's gonna want to know why we've all been rolling around in the jungle," I said in a resigned voice.  "In excruciatingly thorough detail."  I rubbed my temples.  "All right, who here can walk?"

We were saved from having to attempt to levitate each other back to the settlement by the arrival in the temple of several Republic soldiers.  We hitched a ride with them on their troop transport, sitting on the floor, our feet dangling over the edge of the transport's open back.  I wrapped one hand in the webbing of straps along the edge of the floor, and the other around Carth's waist.  I leaned heavily to the right, my left side a throbbing, painful testament to the ahem, pitfalls, of being a woman--a Jedi--in love.

The transport lifted from the ground on thick, ponderous repulsor jets.  We rose above the trees and he groaned when the vehicle jolted from VTOL to forward motion.  "I feel like hell," he said.

"I thought--" my voice broke and sudden tears thickened in my throat.  "I thought I lost you."  I buried my face in the back of his armor and bit back silent sobs.  I'm a Jedi, I'm not supposed to fear loss.  If I kept turning into the Naboo Waterfall Festival every time Carth got a hangnail, I didn't deserve to be the savior of the galaxy.

But this was different.  I feared the worst on the Leviathan, feared it just as much when I believed my own dark side leaked out to pollute the people I cared about.  But those, I could battle--I could fight Saul Karath, I could weasel or bluff our way out of trouble, I could contain the dark streak that ran through me.

I could not stand with him when the duel took place in his own mind.

I sniffed into his armor.  The scent of dried blood, mud, and jungle rot was pungent, and I will forever associate it with death.  He put his free arm around me and shifted to face me.  "Hey," he said softly.  "It was you who found me."

I sniffed again.  "We keep saving each other like this, maybe they'll let us share a padded cell at the looney bin."

He laughed, then grimaced.  "Ow."  He unwrapped his arm from my shoulders and put his hand over his sternum.  

I remembered being on top of the Rakata temple with him.  I unfastened the catches on his armor and pushed it aside.  The tattoo stood out in stark relief against his pale skin, the red drops of inked blood lurid.  "One for Morgana, one for Dustil, and one for you," I said softly, looking up into his eyes.  They gleamed back, the rich, deep color of Corellian brandy in a smoky cantina.  I wouldn't mind either right now.  I reached up and traced the ink with my finger.  He put his hand over mine.  "It was a dark time," he said.  "I was in a dark place."

I licked my cracked lips.  "I know," I said.  "I saw."

He looked away.  "Remember when I told you I noticed you giving into your baser instincts?"

I nodded.  "Tatooine," I said.  "After I killed Calo Nord."  I remembered the intoxicating satisfaction of seeing that rat-bastard's face go pale when my lightsaber flickered to life.  Canderous and I had far too good of a time pasting the little monkey-lizard and his goons.  Looking back, I might be able to blame it on the Star Map, behind us in the Krayt Dragon cave, its dark powers rolling over us, but I knew that wasn't all of it.  Calo Nord scared me badly on Taris, and seeing him rise from that graveyard to pursue me halfway across the galaxy--for free, if he was to be believed, made _me _want to show _him _what fear felt like.  "You said you'd been down that road."

He nodded.  "I gave up all my hope."  Shadows darkened his eyes.  "I was worse than suicidal," he said.  "I wanted to take as many of those bastards down with me."

"I thought The Unforgiven were an urban legend--a soldier's story."

"Believe me," he said harshly, "you have to be in a damn low place to find out they're not."

I could sense him closing away from me again, wrapping up the layers of his soul like moonflowers closing their petals just before dawn.  I burrowed under his armor and put my cheek against his skin.  I knew what it was like to suddenly wake up to realize you were living in a nightmare.  But at least I had the quest for the Star Forge, and Bastila's rescue, to keep me from falling into the pit.  And I had friends.

If I could have called on the Force and let it flow through me into him, to heal the scars on his soul like I could heal the wounds on his body, I would have.  But that's something we both know--there's no speeding up the healing of hurts on the heart.  "Carth?" I said, my voice thick.

He looked down at me, his eyes remote and depthless.  _Remember Rakata_, I thought.  "I love you," I said.  "All of you."

He rested his forehead on mine for a long moment.  I felt as connected to him as I did to Bastila right then.

I looked across to where she sat next to Canderous. Her eyes were closed and I could feel her attempting to meditate, but her thoughts through the bond were thready and weak.  His expression was stony, but he watched her closely.  The transport hit an air pocket and we jolted.  Canderous's arm shot around her waist and he dragged her against him.  I raised my eyebrows.

He glared at me.  "What?" he muttered.

"Me?" I said.  "Nothing.  Nothing at all."  Suddenly, I felt like laughing again.  I buried my face in Carth's sticky armor and dissolved into giggles.  Each one sent a lance of pain into my side, courtesy of a few broken ribs, but I laughed anyway.  We still walked among the living, or at least did a really good impression of it.

Juhani sat between Mission and Dustil.  Her ears twitched.  "Once again, we have cheated death as a group," she said.

"We make a pretty good team," Jolee said.  I felt a warm flush of happy go through me.

"He's not on any team of mine," Mission said sullenly, glaring at Dustil.  I felt a sudden stab of sympathy for her.  Dustil turned away from her to look at the soldiers and I saw the Sith tattoos on his back.  I wondered where my own Sith tattoos were.  I surely must have had them--Malak's bald head was covered with them, and I remember from the academy at Korriban how important they are in Sith culture.  I made a mental note to ask Bastila about it when I got the chance.  The fact that I'd have the chance at all put me in such a good mood that I didn't even mind when we hit another pocket of turbulence and pain shot through my backside.  My shoulders shook at the irony of it.  The Council, indirectly as it may seem, did get to tear me a new one, after all.

The transport landed in the vehicle depot of the Republic base just outside the settlement.  We were greeted by the Base Commander and the Jedi Council.  The august presences all looked unruffled, well-kept, and most significantly, _clean_.  A real, live, professional doctor and her staff emerged from a triage tent to the side of the transport hangar and began unloading wounded. My rear end gave a painful throb at the thought of kolto.  But I didn't relish the thought of having the Jedi masters witness firsthand the humiliating consequences of my disregard of the code.  Knowing Master Vrook, I would be ordered to display the mortifying evidence to auditoria full of snickering apprentices.

The august presence himself stepped forward.  Against all my will, a blush heated my cheeks.  I looked to my right and Bastila met my eyes.  She, too, looked slightly scandalized, but thankfully, she seemed to have lost the apathy she'd worn when we first went before the Council--had it only been this morning? By the elements, no wonder I was exhausted.  Again, hysterical laughter bubbled into my throat.  I offered Master Vrook a sketchy bow.  "Ebon Hawk Janitorial, at your service."

A medic approached me.  "This way, please," she said, dragging me away from Vrook and my team members.  The triage tent was set up in many curtained-off cubicles, and she put me in an empty one.  I stood while she performed some diagnostics, and then she came to my wound.  "That's a nasty one, in a nasty place."  She patted the triage table.  "Lie down and let me have a look-see."

I obeyed, stiffly shucking my trousers.  "I think I've got some broken ribs, too."  I lay facedown on the cot and pillowed my head in my arms.  I could fall asleep right here if my ass didn't hurt so bad.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you," she said.  The unspoken part of her question was, "why didn't you heal yourself, you nitwit?"

"Just clean it and put a kolto patch on it," I said tiredly.

The curtain swung back, and the medic snapped, "Occupied."

"I'm here to see the occupant."  I groaned silently.  Master Vrook's voice brooked no argument.  "Well," he said.  "It appears the Order's faith in you was once again accurate," he said somewhat sullenly.

I really can't stand his attitude about me.  He doesn't like me, and I'm not crazy about him.  All the more reason to be brutally honest with him.  "No," I said.  "I didn't really do much of anything.  And in fact, I'm sure you'll be overjoyed to hear that I was brash, and impulsive, and I went off half-cocked.  I acted like a galaxy-class jackass, and I paid the price."  I looked at my trousers, crumpled on the floor.  The soft, bantha-suede garment was the most comfortable I'd ever owned.  That I could remember.  Darth Revan's robes might have been glittersilk and star-satin, for all I knew.  But I bet they didn't have really useful pockets like my banthapants did.  The medic jabbed me with an anesthetic and I winced.  "I got a big hole in my favorite pair of trousers, and one to match in my butt.  I won't be able to sit down for a week."  I looked up at him.  "Feel free to gloat, before the painkillers take effect.  But before you do, I want you to know that Bastila was the catalyst for fixing your little jungle problem."

"Child," he said reproachfully, "it was never my wish to see you brought low.  It was my fear."

The medic applied a kolto patch to my now-blessedly-numb rear end.  "There you go.  Are you sure you don't want a re-stitcher on it?"

I looked at Master Vrook.  "I'm sure," I said.  "It's meant to be a reminder about--foolish choices."  

I thought I saw the ghost of a smile around his lips.

"I'll leave you for now," the medic said.  "Someone will be in to bind your ribs shortly." 

She slipped out between the panels of the sterile-smelling plastimesh curtains, leaving me in relative privacy with Master Vrook, who looked at me through narrowed eyes.  "I sense a further change in you."

"Besides the puncture wound to my pride?"  I smiled wryly.

"You still have much to learn," he said.  "But you have earned the right to be called Jedi Knight."

"No, I haven't."  I can't believe I'm saying this.  Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.  "Master Vrook, being a Jedi has brought meaning and purpose to my life in a way I never knew I needed so badly.  I feel so much--at home, I guess, in the Force, that I can't imagine life without that awareness anymore."  I rested my chin on my hands.  "But I can't live within the Order's restrictions.  I'm tempted to try to stay, and find some way to change from within.  I--I don't know for sure, but I think the first time around, I felt the same way, and that sort of didn't work out."

He sat down in the chair vacated by the medic.  "The Order has very good reason for its tenets and strictures."

"I know," I said.  "I don't agree with some of them, but I--I understand."  The path opened up before me, and for the first time, the fact that it diverged from that of the Order filled me with sadness.  They annoyed me, manipulated me, betrayed me, and meddled in my life far too much, but they also saved my life, brought the human back out of the monster, and gave me a second chance to live my life and make better choices this time around.  I couldn't say if I'd ever be able to come to terms with all they had done.

"Understanding leads to wisdom, Padawan."

Wiser always seems to come hand in hand with sadder.  "Yeah, yeah.  Funny thing is, though, I didn't gain my real understanding by learning lessons in the enclave on Dantooine.  It took a stick stuck in my butt to, uh--"

"Drive the point home?" He asked.

I laughed, even though my ribs reminded me they still hadn't been treated.  "Like a lightsaber, with the wit."

"The actions of you and your companions have given the Council much to consider over the days since the Battle for the Star Forge."  He shifted in the chair and I sensed a sudden hesitation from him.  "Bastila has spoken to us about the events in the temple."

"Really?"  I tested the bond between us, but within the link, all was serene.  I no longer worried so much about her--as I learned when trapped in the Force, she can take care of herself.  Like me, she's learning the value of anchors, but unlike me, she doesn't have the instinctive knowledge about how to bond with people.  If there was anything I wanted, it was for her to learn the difference between rote and experience, and to trust her own instincts.

"I sense much change in her, as well, though the implications have yet to manifest themselves," he said.

I wrinkled my nose.  "That sounds like you know something, Master Vrook."  What did he see in the ebb and flow of the currents of Force that surrounded us?

"The Force gives us glimpses of potentials and possibilities.  We are not fortune-tellers.  But the wars with the Mandalorians and the Sith--perhaps even stretching back to Exar Kun--well, suffice it to say that perhaps the Order has been a bit more--reactive in our policies than we should have been, especially with Padawans like Bastila."

I blinked my eyes at him.  "Master Vrook, are you saying I might have been right about something?"

"I wouldn't presume," he said.  "Merely that the opinions of others outside the Council are being considered."

I began to feel hope.  "That's good to know," I said.  "But it doesn't much change my situation.  I can't give up my feelings, when they've led me down the right path so many times."  I thought about Master Nayal, Dustil's "passenger," and his remarks about literalism and interpretation.  "And my gut tells me I shouldn't.  But a Jedi cannot know love, or attachment, can they?"

He looked at me sadly, and shook his head.  "The emotions of which you speak are dangerous waters in which to tread with Force powers at your command."

I nodded.  I wondered if he'd ever been in love, or cared about someone beyond casual compassion.  How do you walk away from that?  And more importantly, _why _would you?  Probably the wisest thing Jolee's ever said to me was, "Love can set you free."  That, and, "I did it all for the Wookiees."

"It's a sad fact that our numbers have dwindled.  Between the Jedi lost to the dark side and those lost to the war, we have lost too many," he said solemnly.  "No one regrets that more than I."  This was a very different Vrook than I was used to.

I tensed.  Shifting uncomfortably, I turned on my side to get a better look at him.  "What, exactly, are you saying?"

"There comes a time when a Jedi must be tested outside the safety and the confines of established boundaries.  When safety becomes a weakness.  To be a Jedi means many things.  There are an endless number of ways to serve the Force."

"I can't argue with you there," I said.  My breath came short--my sideways position dug sharp pains into my lungs every time I attempted a deep breath.  "In spite of all you've done _to _me, I have to thank you for all that you've done _for _me."  Now the decision was made, I felt at peace.  Nobody ever said doing the right thing wouldn't hurt.

"I'm glad we understand each other," he said.  "Now--" he held out a hand and I felt the Force pour through me, mending my ribs.  "I'll leave your other wound alone, as you wished it.  But you'll need to be in better shape for tonight."

"Why, what's tonight?" I asked.  "Has the galaxy spawned another Sith Lord already?"

"Worse," he said darkly.  "Your activities drew the attention of the planetary governor, Ch'uul Bethra.  You and your companions have been invited to stay with the governor as his guests in his compound."

My stomach dropped out of my newly-healed ribcage.  I knew what was coming and I feared it.  "You want us to go to another party, don't you?"  Did he not realize that too many parties right after the Star Forge had been a contributing factor in my unhinged flight to Rakata?

"If the governor knows you're here, then the media does, as well.  You can feel free to refuse the governor's offer and have no buffer between yourself and the reporters who are even now gathered outside the garrison's main gate, waiting for a glimpse of the Heroes of the Star Forge.  Or you can allow the governor and his entourage to escort you back to his secure compound, where you can meet the press on your own terms."

I groaned.  "Very neatly done, Master Vrook.  Very neatly done."  I didn't bother wondering if the awareness of our activities had been helped along by someone in the enclave.  They might be out-of-touch old men, but they were very canny, out-of-touch old men.

"The Force works in mysterious ways, Padawan."

"Mysterious and sneaky ways," I said to his retreating back.

* * *


	51. Diplomacy

Diplomacy

Revan

With nothing more to fix for the medical team, I decided to check myself out of the triage tent and open it up for somebody who really needed it.  I met up with Mission and Canderous outside the tent.  After searching the Twi'lek girl carefully--she seemed none the worse for wear for all her mental adventures, I turned to Canderous.  "I have bad news," I said.  Canderous's hand went to the repeater.  "Not that kind of bad news," I said, almost wishing it were.  I told them about the governor, and the reception, and watched Canderous's face turn mean when I mentioned the media.  "No," I said, before he asked, "you can't shoot them."

The planetary governor, Ch'uul Bethra, was an obsequious human surrounded by surly-looking Aqualish "aides" -- read, bodyguards--who immediately stepped forward.  "Heroes of the Republic deserve no less than the finest the Yavin settlement has to offer.  Please  honor us by agreeing to be guests at my estate."

"Estate?" Mission asked.  "There's an estate somewhere in this dump?" she whispered.

Her thoughts echoed my own.  I muttered back,  "Maybe they're hiding it under a junk pile."  I wanted more to be a guest in an extensive medical facility, but Master Vrook's nod made the acid remark die a silent death on my tongue.  

The governor was a diplomat, and I didn't like diplomats, but the man hadn't done anything to me or my crew personally.  Maybe all he really did want to do was show some gratitude to the people who helped repel a Sith invasion of his planetary settlement.

"We'd be honored," I said.  I gritted my teeth, and bowed slightly.  "As soon as we've all been released by the medics."

Back when I was training on Dantooine, Bastila forced me into diplomatic exercises against my will.  I was sneaking around the galaxy and looking for ancient ruins to fight the Sith, why did I need to know how to behave at dinner parties?  I figured as long as I didn't wet myself or tell dirty jokes in public, I'd do all right, but she grabbed my shoulders and shook me.  "Noura, you are a Jedi now!  Our function is to keep the peace throughout the galaxy, wherever we are, and no matter what our main quests might be.  What if we should visit one of these worlds and the Star Map is in the possession of some dignitary?  Will you start a war by murdering someone who stands in your way?"

There she was, going on about the damn Dark Side again.  "Of course not," I snapped.  "I'd be nice.  You may not have been listening, but Carth and I managed to get Sith uniforms to get to the Tarisian Lower City without killing anyone."

"Indeed?"  She arched one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.  "Do tell."

"I got us invited to a party," I said.  The taste of Tarisian ale still gave me the willies.  I didn't tell her that the only reason I stumbled on Yun and Sarna in the cantina was because I was sulking between fights with Carth.  He'd just finished telling me that my survival of the crash seemed "odd" to him, and that he'd be watching me closely.  _Sorry_, he said, _but I just don't trust people.  I'm not built that way_.

I panicked, suddenly terrified that my only anchor of sanity--the only person I recognized or remembered from longer than three or four days ago, when the Endar Spire was destroyed--suddenly wanted to distance himself from me.  But I discovered I wasn't a clingy female, and stalked off to the Cantina.

Yun had been right next to the bar when I ordered my drink in an angry voice.  He slid over next to me and said, "Hey, pretty.  He isn't worth it if he makes you frown like that."

I'd been about to tell him to take the sympathy act somewhere else, but just then, I saw Captain Paranoid's orange jacket out of the corner of my eye.  _Fine_, I thought.  _If he doesn't want to trust me, maybe I'll just find someone who will_.  I smiled up at Yun. "You got a name, soldier?"

He laughed.  "Does it show? Junior officer first class in the Sith fleet.  I'm Yun."  I blinked in surprise.  My scoundrel's luck must be malfunctioning, I thought.  _Figures that I storm off in a snit from a Republican soldier straight into the arms of the enemy.  I couldn't have found a nice Tarisian droid mechanic, could I?_

"I'm Noura."  We bantered, and he revealed that the life of an invader isn't all sunshine and roses.  Somehow, I made the right responses in the "people just don't understand conquering armies" department, and he led me over to a booth where a few others were gathered, their ramrod postures indicating soldiering careers.  I saw Carth glower as I passed him, and linked arms with Yun to grind it in.  I told Yun I was a swoop racer, in for the season opener.  "And I guess the rest of the season, unless this quarantine lifts soon."

To his credit, Carth waited a good quarter of an hour before coming over to our table.  "Noura," he said carefully.

"Hello Carth," I said flatly.

Yun sent a hostile look in Carth's direction.  "Is this the guy that made you frown, sweetheart?"

I didn't reply for a long moment.  All I had to do was nod, and I could get Carth knocked around for free, and teach him a lesson about not trusting me.  And prove him absolutely right.  Or I could take the time and earn his trust.  Who was my real ally here?  Carth, or the Sith?  "No," I said.  But not quite ready to forgive him all the way.  "He's my garage mechanic."

Carth's lips quirked slightly and he raised one eyebrow.

"This is Yun, and this is Sarna," I said.  "They're officers in the Sith fleet."

"Really?" he said.  I discovered that in addition to his holovid action-star looks, he could also act halfway decently.  He slid into the booth next to Sarna.  "Hey, beautiful," he said.

Anger flashed through me. I was supposed to be "beautiful," dammit!  He offered me a bland, challenging smile.

Our companions began talking about a party that evening, and Sarna said, "I can't wait--I'm so eager to blow off a little steam I'm going right after my shift.  Probably won't even stop home to change out of uniform."

Yun put an arm around my shoulders.  "Why don't you come by?  Quite a few of us are swoop fans."

"Sounds like fun," I said.  "Nothing perks up a party like a fast woman, eh?"

He nuzzled my neck and I wondered if I was the kind of person who'd do whatever it took to meet an objective.  I took down the address of the party into my datapad.  Yun traced little circles on my back and I drained my drink and let him.

Carth started a conversation with Sarna about the dueling matches taking places in the arena, and I focused on keeping my reactions to a minimum.

But he broke first.  "Okay, _boss_," he said.  "Time to go."  Or maybe he just had the timing to stage a strategic retreat.  "If you want me to lube your engines, that is."

I choked on my last swallow of ale, and sputtered.  He winked at me, and I stood up.  _Arrogant rogue_, I thought.  I thought we'd established our relationship by then--I was the one who made the double-edged comments, and he was the one who blushed and stammered.

I refocused on Bastila.  I wouldn't go into the events of the party with her, of how I'd been unprepared for the effect Tarisian ale would have on me--how was I supposed to know I was such a lightweight?  Of my foggy memories ending with Yun pushing me up against the wall to kiss my neck, his hands slipping into the neckline of my tunic.  Of not being coordinated enough to form a decent "no" before the ale's effect hammered me into oblivion.  Of waking in abject panic only to find Carth maintaining watchful vigilance over me and Yun out cold with a bloody nose.  I couldn't meet Carth's eyes for a long time after that.  "To make a long story short," I told her, "we let alcohol and merriment do the work of stun sticks, then lifted uniforms.  So no, I don't do everything by the sword."

Nevertheless, she forced me into basic diplomatic training.  "Experienced diplomats will very quickly see through clumsy attempts to seduce and subdue."

"And I'm sure you know all about that, right?" I said.  "Given your charm and people skills."

She stiffened at my words, and I realized I'd hurt her more than she would admit.  I discovered that day that I had a wider vicious streak than I previously thought.  I learned that I could be just plain mean, and I didn't like the lesson.  I went through the diplomatic training without another complaint.

* * *


	52. Civilization

Civilization

Carth

The medic that treated me made up for in enthusiasm for what she lacked in gentleness.  Only after I was ninety percent sure there was twice as much kolto in my bloodstream than actual blood did she pronounce me repaired and releaseable.  I followed noises of grumpy dissatisfaction to find Jolee being fussed over by a cluster of medical aides.  "Have you seen Revan?" I asked him.

"Not since we left the transport," he said.  "Zaalbar and Juhani were patched up and let go right away.  They took the droids to the droid maintenance bay.  But these--twitterpates--" he gestured to the group of medics surrounding him, "--seem to think they can find a cure for old age.  Hmph!"

I waited for him to shrug back into his Jedi robes and accompanied him out of the triage tent.  Revan stood with Canderous and Mission and a few strangers of varying species.  The Jedi Council was there, too, and I felt the sharp edge of anger.  Hadn't they meddled enough?  Weren't they finished with her, even now?  It was bad enough they would take Dustil, I wouldn't let them take her.

I blinked, startled by the swiftness with which I jumped into the fury.

"Steady on, kid," Jolee murmured.  "Living with your dark side takes some getting used to."

"What are you going on about, old man?" I said defensively.

He stopped and put a hand on my shoulder, stopping me with him.  Revan glanced our way and her features softened.  Jolee dragged my attention back to him.  "Loosen up, kid," he said.  "Look.  Near as I can figure about what happened back there is that whatever haunts that temple found a part of you that you never faced.  And because you never faced it, you didn't know how to control it.  Now you've got two choices ahead of you--you can start learning to live with yourself, or you can stuff it back down in the cellar and let it feed on womp rats until it grows strong enough to break out of you."  He sighed exasperatedly and snorted.  "Between setting you, and Bastila, and Revan, and the whole damn Jedi Council straight, I'll never get the rest I so richly deserve."

"I don't recall asking for straightening," I said.

"But you need it.  Think about what I said.  Now go rescue your lady from that pompous windbag before Canderous cracks and does something we'll all regret."

I looked over to the Mandalorian.  His face was a bleak thundercloud.  I looked from him to Revan to Mission.  Gods above and below, we all looked like regurgitated hell.  Yet Revan smiled and bowed to the governor, and the barrel-chested man beamed down at her and was utterly charmed.  That's her way.  If we'd shown up in any civilized settlement, they'd have ordered us to have a hose-down in a starship hangar before letting us around civilized people, we were so filthy.  Yet her personality is so strong that it doesn't matter if she looks like hell or not.  She could be wearing woven bantha-fur, or the shavings off a dead Wookiee, and people would still act like she wore Coruscanti glittersilk.

My urge was to take her somewhere and hide from the galaxy--just lift her up right now and run to the Ebon Hawk, and blast off, then cut the engines when we were twelve parsecs from nowhere, and disconnect the comm.  I walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder.  Running away with her wasn't an option.  She belonged to the galaxy and it wouldn't be content to let her be.

But the smile she gave me was for me alone.  Somehow, I swore silently, I'll find a way for us to be together.

The governor's entourage herded us into speeders and we drove through a large knot of onlookers to the edge of the settlement, where a low, squat building that looked cramped enough to make a family of Jawas think about open-air camping waited.  The green undergrowth had been cleared out to bare dirt recently, but already the greenery showed signs of creeping back, over a series of low domes that sported transparisteel bubbles over their apexes, but still only stood about a meter from the ground.

"The citizens of the Yavin 4 settlement have seen some benefit in keeping the extensiveness of our home from casual orbital observers," Governor Bethra said, a meaningful glance in Canderous's direction as he and his Aqualish led us into the square entryway, which turned out to be a simple foyer that opened down into a wide grand staircase.

I was reminded uncomfortably of the Massassi temple in the canyon.  But unlike the ruined temple, these stairs opened up into a large, low-ceilinged hall, sparsely furnished, but nonetheless obviously a receiving area.

Aides--real ones, this time, Twi'leks and Rodians and humans--descended on the governor at our arrival.  Beside me, Mission hissed.  

"What?" I whispered.

"That Devaronian," she murmured.  "Before I followed Dustil, he was following me.  Says he wants to interview me for holovids.  Creeps me out."

I trusted her instincts.  "And Z didn't put the fear of the Force into him?"

She shook her head.  I frowned.  The Devaronian's eyes were wandering around the room and lit on Mission even as we spoke.  "I wonder if he might benefit from an audience with HK," I said.

The governor clapped his hands and said loudly, "In due time, everyone.  I must see to my honored guests first.  The comfort of the heroes of the Star Forge gets top priority!"

"I could've done without that," I said, in the sudden silence from the crowd.

* * *


	53. Confessional

Confessional

Carth

Hero.  By the Force, I'm beginning to hate that word.  It mocked me all the way to the governor's underground estate.  Revan walked beside me, and I could feel her hesitation.  Once the Governor dropped that carefully-crafted slip to the media that he was hosting the heroes of the Star Forge, the place went mad.  The governor's people ushered us out of the receiving room and down a long corridor punctuated by low doorways.  A smiling Twi'lek indicated a doorway to my left.  "Commander," she said.  I felt Revan's hand slip from mine as she was taken further down.  I looked past the Twi'lek to her retreating form.

She turned back to me, but the diminutive Rodian at her side tugged her arm.  She pasted a determined smile on her face, and sent me a last, desperate look.

My Twi'lek handler guided me firmly through the doorway, which was little more than a landing for a short flight of stairs.  The stairs went up and opened into a spacious room with luxury appointments.  "Just press the comm panel and your every need will be met, Commander," she said.  "The Governor would like for you to join him in the Grand Hall in two hours' time for a reception in your honor."

My guts clenched.  The last thing I wanted was to have to dress up and make nice for some local despot--  "I think I'll have to decline," I said, "on account of I'm not dressed for the occasion."

"The governor has anticipated your needs," she said, thumbing a button on the wall.  A closet opened up, revealing enough clothing to stock an Alderaanian fashion boutique.  I groaned.

She laughed sympathetically.  "The governor's receptions aren't usually on the short side," she said.  "But I happen to know that the governor has an early morning meeting with the system senator's chief aide.  And here--" she handed me a passcard.  "If you play your cards right, you can sneak out early via the north door.  It leads to a back corridor that will take you out to the speeder garage.  And fresh air."

"I--hey, thank you."  I looked at the passcard.  "But if you don't mind my asking--why?"

She lowered her eyes and her head-tails wrapped around her shoulders.  "I--my boyfriend is a Republic soldier.  He's coming home because of you."

If anything could have gotten me into one of those monkey-lizard suits, it was hearing that.  I closed my eyes.  "Sometimes it's hard to remember we're the good guys," I said.  "Thanks, kid."

"Anytime, Commander," she said, and went down the stairs.  Seconds later, I heard the door close quietly behind her.

I peeled off my armor, and I do mean peeled.  Dried blood caked with mud up to my elbows.  The soft hide was stiff with sweat, and flecks of greenery and dark blood tarnished the silvery plate.  The vibroblades I'd sheathed across my back came off thick with dead greenery, mud, and darker substances.  I couldn't get into the 'fresher fast enough.  No wonder that poor Twi'lek girl kept a respectable distance from me.

I cleaned the armor first, knowing that the longer I let the filth sit on the armor, the more likely it would cause permanent damage.

The familiar actions of a soldier took care of finding something for my hands to do, but my mind remained unoccupied, and wandered back to the dark places I'd just emerged from.  I needed to talk to Revan, to help me make sense of it all.  I don't remember much.  I just remember being in the jungle, watching her collapse, along with Jolee and Juhani, and feeling her convulse in my arms.  

I remember the terror that gripped me then, of reliving my last moments with Morgana.  Bastila's shell-shock paralyzed her, and the fear that I'd lose Revan the same way I lost Morgana drove me a little mad.  The events leading up to the Star Forge then began to recede from my mind.  I was back on Telos, and--after.

I don't remember much between the clearing and the temple.  I try to think about it and red haze obscures my vision.  I remember being in a very dark place, and hearing Revan calling my name.

My name being called brought me out of my head, but it wasn't Revan's husky, feminine voice that called it.

It was Canderous.  "Open up, Onasi," he said from the other side of the door.  

I put my hand on the panel and the door slid open.  From the bleak, almost terrified look on his face, I thought maybe he'd slipped up and eaten the aide that showed him to his room.  "If this is about hiding a body," I said.

"Did you receive a head wound we don't know about?"

I went back up the short flight of stairs.  The low, transparisteel-topped domes we'd seen when we entered the compound turned out to be the skylights of these guest rooms, and a sudden, fitful rainstorm pelted the dome.  "No," I answered him, "but I'd be grateful if you'd give me one to get out of this flag-waving exercise tonight."

"Not a chance," he said.  "I suffer, you suffer."

I sat back down on the floor and started reassembling my blasters.  Canderous dropped into a crouch and helped me.

"Ordo," I said, needing to ask, but very leery of the consequences of doing so.  "Did I--in the jungle--?"

"You fought well," he said.  "But you let yourself be manipulated into somebody else's weapon."

I nodded.  "Did I do anything stupid, though?"  At his look, I amended, "Besides that.  Did I--put Bastila in danger?"

"If you had," he said calmly, "I'd have killed you."

I holstered the blaster I'd cleaned, then held my hand out for the one he worked on.  Hearing a Mandalorian threaten your life would send the average galactic cit into convulsions, but I'd been cultivating a collection of death threats from Canderous for various reasons, from quarreling over grenades to arguing about who accompanied Revan to what Star Map, and who waited in the cantina.

But as I looked at him, I noticed there was something different about him.  His death threat held a thread of steel in it that told me he was serious about this one.  "How is she?"

His jaw was tight.  "Last I saw of her, they dragged her away with Revan, and started talking about baths."

I waited for the expected remark about naked women, but none came.  It was then I figured out what was different about him.  I recognized the look of grim resignation in a man's eyes when he faces an enemy he can't possibly win against.  "You sorry sonofabitch," I said.  "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

His fist shot out.  I expected he wouldn't take it well, and caught his fist with my hand.  "Knocking the stuffing out of me won't help you," I said.  "And it won't make you feel better for that long, either."

He glared at me, pure venom in his eyes.

"So why don't you do something about it?" I asked.

"Like what you did, Republic?  Declare your love and then sit back and act like nothing's changed?"

"I'm biding my time," I said.  I stood up and took the second blaster from him before he did something dangerous with it.  After holstering it, I carefully put both blasters in a drawer--across the room.  "So what do Mandalorians in love do?"

"There are--" he looked away, "--protocols."  The sudden discomfort radiating from him was almost comical.  I hadn't seen the man break a sweat when we were surrounded by Dark Jedi with our creative and painful deaths on their to-do lists.  Now he couldn't meet my eyes.

"Protocols?"  I fought to keep a straight face.

"Traditions," he snapped.  "Things have to be done in a certain way, else it becomes a question of honor."

The cabinet in which I stowed the blasters also, I discovered, had a store of Corellian brandy and cut-crystal glasses.  _Just what the situation calls for_, I thought.

I poured two measures and handed one to the poor bastard sitting on my floor.  "Drink up," I said.  "Then talk."

We sat on the floor and drank like the two desperate fools we are for a silent stretch of time, during which the brandy did its medicinal work on my psyche.  Things are so much clearer from the bottom of the glass, sometimes.

Canderous suddenly leaned forward.  "There's a time," he said, as if there hadn't been a forty-five minute lull in our conversation.  "That comes when a man's gotta start thinkin' of th'future, righ'?"

"S-sure," I slurred back.  "Little house, picket fence, two speeders and a kitchen droid.  O-or th' Mand'lorian equ-equiv-equivivialent."

"Clanhold," he said.  "Armory out back.  Basilisk war droid in the garage.  List o'planets to conquer on the datapad."  He drained the last dregs of his glass and wiped his mouth.  "And sons and daughters to do the conquerin'."

I hiccuped.  "Lazy sonofasith, aren' ya?  Gettin' y'r kids to do all th' work."

"I trained the whelps!  Bring honor to th'r mother an' glory to me."  He humphed.

"Nice dream," I said.  "Had one jus' like it, once.  Then the Sith came an' bombed it away."  The pain would never go away, I knew, not even with all the brandy on Corellia.  But I had learned to live with it.  I still had Dustil, and somehow, I believed Morgana would have liked Revan.

"You gotta hold wha's yours, man, y'know?"  He leaned back and sprawled on the floor, resting his empty glass on his chest.

I nodded.  He was right.  Not in the way he thought he was, but his words made sense to me.  Everybody wanted a piece of Revan--I would have to fight to keep her whole, and mine.  My head drooped.  The rain on the roof beat a tattoo that echoed in my skull.  Or it could've been the alcohol.  "How come you ain't been married before?"  I was well into my cups--my lack of grammar was proof.

Canderous shrugged.  "Too busy fighting.  I was a general.  My clan was a little removed from the mainstream.  Didn't mix much with the other clans.  With one thing and another, I never got around to it.  Didn't think I'd ever get around to it.  Then after the war...without a clan...and...I won't keep a woman like that without honor."

It was probably the alcohol, but I detected a note of desperation in his voice.  I suddenly felt sympathy for the poor bastard.  She couldn't be an easy woman to love.  I wasn't used to playing Agony Aunt, either, so I just poured us another round.  "How many credits buys honor?" I asked.

"Gotta, um...settle on a bride-price.  An'-an' a dowry for her.  Have to be able to provide for 'er.  Protect 'er."

Old wounds opened up in me, aggravated by alcohol.  Maybe the Mandalorians had the right of it.  Protect it or lose it.

A small, sober voice scoffed at me.  _Just try and pull that crap with Revan_, it taunted me.  _See how many pieces your ass is in when it gets handed back to you_.

Still, as a man in love, I felt his pain.  

"There's more to it than that," he said.  "Things have to be done right, and--dammit.  It's pointless without a clan.  This isn't something a warrior does alone.  He has the help of his kinsmen and his clan."

I leaned back myself, my head thudding on the floor, and stared up at the night sky and the rain-spattered dome.  I was no kin of his--perish the thought--but the crew of the Ebon Hawk was more than a little clannish in nature.  "So what would you if you had kinsmen?"

Call me a romantic fool--I won't argue.  But ever since Taris, I'd been watching Revan fix people, put them back together a little better off than they were before meeting her, whether it was the widow in Anchorhead who walked off with more than a wraid skull was worth, the Wookiees who got their freedom and their planet back thanks to her, or the depressed Outcasts in the Undercity of Taris, who hopefully found their Promised Land before the Sith started shelling.  Or the broken Republic pilot with a death wish and a hunger for vengeance I saw in the mirror every morning.  I'd seen her do it across seven planets, and I'm a quick study.  

* * *


	54. Diplomatic Breakdown

Diplomatic Breakdown

Revan

_I feel like a jackass_, I thought, as I walked into the governor's reception room.  Beside me, Bastila made a tall, graceful figure, her borrowed gown hanging off her figure with elegance.  Another thing I have discovered about myself is that I don't do dresses.  Not well, anyway.  My borrowed frippery was too long, and the hem kept getting caught under the ridiculously unprotective sandals I'd laced around my feet.  I felt like a Gammorrean in drag next to her.

Fortunately for me, Yavin 4 is not Coruscant.  There was a limit to the witnesses of my humiliation at the hands of galactic couturiers.  The governor gravitated towards Bastila and took her hands.  She smiled graciously and allowed him to escort her into the room.  I searched the assembled crowd for the rest of my crew.

"Hey there." Mission sidled up to me.  She was also in borrowed finery, a simple, short tunic dress that let her move as easily as her normal running-around clothes.  "Look at that--somebody actually got hold of Big Z and a hairbrush at the same time."  She pointed to the cluster of aides around the governor.  One of the aides held the arm of our Wookiee friend.

"You know, I think he kind of likes the attention," I said.  The aide was a Gotal female and she kept a firm grip on the big furry fellow's arm.

"Well, if this isn't the biggest waste of resources I've seen in a bantha's age, I'll spit."  Jolee approached us and put a hand on my shoulder.  "Steady, lass.  You're scowling like somebody widdled in your nutri-snacks.  Have a drink.  Smile.  It makes people wonder what you're up to."

I didn't even realize I'd been frowning.  "Where is everybody else?"  I kept scanning the crowd.  I couldn't see the one person I was most concerned about seeing.  But I spotted Juhani, slinking along the wall towards our little antisocial knot.  She wore a loose tunic and pants I recognized as Cathari formal garb.  Smart people, the Cathars.  I smiled for her.  "How are you feeling?"

Her golden eyes narrowed.  "I realize that this occasion is meant to celebrate our victory, yet there is a disturbing similarity between this and the Tarisian slave auction where you first liberated me."

I took her hand and squeezed it.  "I really wish I remembered that part of Revan's life," I said.

"I know."  She nodded.  "You look very nice in your dress," she said.

I wrinkled my nose, then smoothed my features, mindful of Jolee's earlier warnings.  "I feel like the victim of a deranged energy spider."  The clothing that awaited me, laid out by an aide who showed me to my room, ought to be classified as a contraption, rather than a dress.  I'd needed assistance in getting into the stiffened bodice.  It was Darellian formalwear, I was told, in honor of my homeworld.  Or rather, the homeworld of Noura Den Hades.

"Miss Den Hades, this way please," a firm voice called out.  I automatically turned, only to be temporarily dazzled by a holocamera.  I blinked rapidly, stupidly, like a dewback caught in speeder headlights, while a holorecorder was shoved in my face.

"Tell us what you were doing here on Yavin 4!"

"Your files claim you were a smuggler before joining the Republic fleet, tell us about it!"

"Can you confirm that the Jedi Revan is alive?"

I froze, panicked and terrified and utterly confused.  The crowd around me separated me from Mission and Jolee.  Juhani's attention was diverted by someone else, and I felt her hand slip from mine, leaving me alone.

I reached out into the Force, nearly surrendering to the overwhelming need to lift my hand and send a wave of it out all around me, just to give myself some space.  I felt a flood of calm wash over me.

The governor's aides, buzzing around like sandflies, suddenly became useful.  A smiling pink Twi'lek girl took my elbow and led me out of the pack of press-hounds.  "Governor Bethra will be happy to facilitate your questions at the formal audience.  Please see Darsuul to register yourself in the press queue."  To me, she murmured.  "Please forgive me.  I should have been here to escort you to the governor's side right away."

"I could have missed all that?" I said wryly.  Through the crowd, I saw that Mission, Juhani, and Jolee all seemed to sprout Twi'leks, who steered us all in the same general direction towards the governor.

I thought I spotted Master Zhar in the crowd, but I might have been mistaken.  I didn't get the chance to double-check before I came face to face with--"Governor Bethra," I said.  The Force-bond I shared with Bastila radiated calming directives.  I ground my teeth together and smiled.  I tried to give a little bow, but my clothing wouldn't let me.  "You are too generous to host such a lavish reception for us," I said, meaning it.

He smiled.  "It is you who are too generous, for gracing us with your presence not only as guests, but as defenders of Yavin as well."

I groaned inwardly.  The press would have a field day if they discovered our actual defending consisted of passing out, being possessed, or engaging in a largely ineffective killing spree.

"All done in service to the Republic," a smooth-as-chocolate voice said behind me.

Carth!  Thank the Force.  I turned around, relief taking my breath away.  Or maybe it was just the too-tight lacing in the bodice of my dress.  I envied Bastila her loose Alderaanian gown.  The women of Darellia must be masochists to an extreme not usually found outside some of the sleazier varieties of entertainment holocron.

Even Carth had a lucky streak.  Telos fashion looked remarkably casual--trousers, a loose shirt, and a vest over top of it.  "Hey, gorgeous," he said softly.

A suspicious gleam sparkled in his eyes, but I didn't question it--I was that happy to see him.  "Hey yourself, flyboy."

A wall went up to my left and when I turned to greet Canderous I got my first eyeful--that I can remember--of Mandalorian formal armor.  And I thought I had it bad.  Canderous's outfit looked like all the bad things about armor, with none of the protections.  Hide jacket, trousers, knee-high boots, and more metal buckles and straps than I could count.  "You look ridiculous," he said.  I caught a whiff of Corellian brandy and raised an eyebrow.

"And they say Mandalorians can't be charming," I retorted.

The initial greeting by the governor, and the skillful way his aides wrangled the press, allowed the reception to get underway without more fuss.  I was presented to a group of Neimoidians from the Trade Federation, the Twi'lek aide whispering names and rank in my ear as I shook hands with each one of them.  Their leader escorted me, accompanied by a knot of other dignitaries and Jedi in my crew--I noticed Mission, Zaalbar, and Canderous had all melted back into the crowd--around the room.  I remembered Bastila's lessons.  Diplomatic receptions in which dinner was not served started out with presentations of guests to dignitaries, followed by a procession of said distinguished personages around the room twice, to signify willingness to mingle.  Local delicacies must be sampled, unless they are hazardous to your species' health.  Music must be listened to, if present, and the host must be thanked.  Then there's a whole series of protocols on eating, if the misfortune of a dinner should be included with your torture--who to sit down with, how to eat, who to talk to while eating, what not to talk about.  My head began to hurt.  It might have been the dress, cutting off my circulation, or it might have been the Neimoidian's breath as he remarked on the lushness of the Yavin jungles.

"On behalf of the Trade Federation, I am authorized to express thanks in making the starways once again safe for flourishing trade," he said, as we passed by a display of Yavin 4's edible jungle flora.  I thought I recognized some of the plants that had camouflaged the trap I'd fallen into.  It will be a long time before I'm okay with the color green again.

I made a noncommittal reply along the lines of "all in a day's work," while my real thoughts stayed unspoken, as did his true sentiments.  What he really meant was, "thank you for releasing the chokehold Czerka maintained with its trade monopoly with the Sith," and what I really meant was, "best of luck on becoming the next Czerka."

I moved on to the wife of the Fleet General of the entire Meridian Sector, a middle-aged human woman with soft features.  I felt slightly better about proceeding around the room with her--having clocked a lap already, I was feeling a little less tense about diplomacy.  I scanned the crowd and spotted Bastila holding court--she does that like she's born to it, I thought, remembering the effluvient bows she habitually sketched to the Jedi Council.  If I peeked into the records on Coruscant I'd bet good credits that I'd find some nobility in her not-so-distant past.  Canderous had the right of it when he first called her a Jedi Princess all those months ago, back at Davik's estate, right after she lectured me about getting a massage.

The General's wife scanned the crowd before us.  "I'm afraid our poor governor's quite out of his league tonight."

"I beg your pardon?" I said, feeling a little out of my own league.

"All these people--these important people--" she waved her hand at the assembled crowd, "--are here to see you.  He will gain a bit of notoriety for hosting you, but I'm afraid that in the light of the speculation going around, his participation is merely a footnote."

My stomach clenched.  "I really don't see why," I said.

She smiled.  "They said you were a modest lot.  I believe my husband termed you an 'unlikely collection.' "

"He flattered us," I said automatically, then blushed and bit both of my lips.

She laughed.  "You're an uncommon young woman, Miss Den Hades.  You emerge from obscurity to keep the company of the brightest stars of the Jedi Order and a decorated war hero to complete the mission that turns the tide of the fortunes of the entire galactic Republic.  You're a fascinating subject."

"Me?"  I didn't want to be a fascinating subject.  The brief encounter with the media when I entered the room was about as famous as I wanted to get.  It was all I could do to keep from drawing my lightsaber or giving them all a Force wave to make them give me space.

"Do you know," she said casually, "That there's been talk.  Now that the dust has settled a bit from the Star Forge battle, reports are coming in.  The rumors, of course, are flying."

"Rumors?" I asked faintly.  

"Rumors," she repeated.  "Some of the survivors claim the presence of a very interesting character aboard the Star Forge."  She turned and looked at me, stopping our wandering pace.  "They say that Revan returned to defeat her old apprentice."

The edges of my vision narrowed, and black spots began to dance in front of my eyes.  That damn dress!  "R-revan?" I stuttered.

She nodded conspiratorially.  "Yes indeed.  Utter nonsense, if you ask me, but I can see how they get started.  Battles like the Star Forge are the birthplace of urban legends.  I expect we'll be hearing about Revan sightings for the next fifteen or so years.  Teenagers will tell each other 'Revan' stories to scare themselves when they camp in the wilderness."

In spite of the softness of her features, I noted the intelligence behind her not-so-soft eyes.  "If there were enough evidence for a rumor like that to persist, certain...elements of the population would...react," she said.  

Bastila chose that moment to slide smoothly into our little tete a tete.  "Noura, Madam Tjarn, how lovely it is to see you."

Savior of the galaxy, my punctured butt-cheek.  In a spectacular display of cowardice, I latched onto her like a mynock on an automated freighter in the Outer Rim.  Madam Tjarn's stare became distinctly uncomfortable for me.

Bastila took my arm, sending calming thoughts to me through the Force.  "Have you met--" she steered me to a large knot of people and began making introductions.

As the night progressed, I grew more and more panicked, and out of my element.  Madam Tjarn's observations weren't unique.  Our presence inspired many people to speculate on the Star Forge battle.  And as can be found in discussion salons all over the universe, the loudest of the armchair admirals had the least experience and the most impractical of ideas.  Madam Tjarn was right--I was asked several times about the rumors about Darth Revan.

Beside me, Bastila said, "I can assure you, I was with the strike team aboard Darth Revan's flagship.  Darth Revan is no more."  Dustil's master's words tweaked me once again.  Bastila never said Darth Revan was actually dead.  I only hope nobody else noticed.

The Neimoidian Trade Federation representative addressed me.  "There is little in the media of your history, Miss Den Hades.  Perhaps you will enlighten the curious?"

_Not on your life_, I thought.  "My story is of little interest.  Perhaps that's why it hasn't made it into the media."

The Neimoidian expressed humor.  "Or perhaps your story is of great interest to parties of whom you wish not to have interested in you."  His pink eyes gleamed shrewdly.  I wondered how much of my artificial past was common knowledge, and how many people were aware of my real one.  An ancient proverb popped itself into my head.  _Three can keep a secret if two are dead_.

The status of my identity had never really been discussed.  My crew knew who I was, as did the Council, and Admiral Dodonna and a few other high-ranking military types.  But back on Rakata, my past hadn't seemed important.  I'd just defeated the Sith Lord--didn't that at least partially absolve me?  And afterwards--well, I hadn't planned on being around for the repercussions.  

An Ithorian added the next notch in my rising panic.  I have always admired the Ithorians--their cooperative nature and sense of abundance in existence appeals to an innocent part of me that I suspect has always been there.  But there are exceptions to species everywhere.  This one proved to be an exception.  "The rumors about Darth Revan's return have reached even my ears, cloistered in my research lab as I am.  For the sake of my coworkers, I hope they are unfounded."

"Why is that?" I asked, nerves jangling.

"Many of my coworkers suffered much under the Sith.  My facility was only recently liberated from Sith control."  He turned away for a moment.  "We study life because we value it so.  To have our research seized, and to have been forced to research life in order to terminate it in mass quantities, is a blasphemy to all I hold dear."

My stomach hurt, and not just from my ribs.  "Please excuse me," I whispered around the sudden lump in my throat.  Against protocols, I made my way across the middle of the room, past the huge centerpiece of carved ice and edible delicacies, and made for a door in the back of the hall.  By the time it opened, I was running full-tilt.

I emerged into the open air of the speeder bay.  Biological weaponry.  Of course.  It made perfect sense to me.  I remember back on Tatooine, when I fought the Sand People.  As I carved into one with my lightsaber, I screamed invective at him.  "Don't fuck with me, you animal--I will take down your whole family!"  At the time, I thought I was simply trash-talking, hoping he'd understand, be suitably intimidated, and flee.  But part of me, I now realized, had really and truly meant it.  If a species proved to be a persistent annoyance, it only made sense to remove the annoyance altogether.  

On Tatooine, I had thought to remove the annoyance by understanding it.  My scoundrel's instincts counseled patience--the Tusken Raiders were simply another mark to charm or swindle.  But the old me must have taken the other route.

The faint smell of engine oil and combustible machinery clung to the duracrete, temporarily overriding the pervading presence of the jungle, and I breathed it in.  I rested my back against the wall and let the wet night air cool my skin.  I stared into the darkness, letting the guilt overwhelm me.  I had to start expecting things like this--Darth Revan had cut a swath through the galaxy, and it would take some time for the shock waves to break.

As I stared blankly into the shadows, I noticed one of them separate from the larger shadow of the speeder next to it.  I flattened myself against the wall, but my dress wasn't exactly the ideal garment to sneak around in.  The glittersilk made a rustling noise and the figure stopped.  I crouched down into a defensive stance and sent out a questing tendril in the Force.

A familiar presence relaxed me.  "Sneaking out on me, Flyboy?" I asked, coming towards him.

He smiled down at me.  "I just needed a little fresh air," he said.

"Me, too."  I chewed on my lips.  "Carth--"

"What's on your mind?"

I put my arms around him and laid my cheek against the soft hide of his vest.  "People are starting to talk," I said.  "About Darth Revan not being dead."  He put his arms around me and I sagged gratefully into his embrace.  I couldn't expect him to shoulder my burdens, but it was awfully nice to have support.  Yeah--the Council really underestimates the benefits of attachments.

"I guess we had to expect this eventually," he said.

"I can't run away from my past," I said.  "And the Council seems to think that things are square between us.  But I don't think that attitude is shared by everybody in the Republic."

"The only thing we can do is take things as they come," he said.  "The people who matter know you've paid for your past."

"But have I paid enough?" I asked.  

His tone tightened with disbelief.  "Do you even have to ask that?  I still get angry when I think about what the Council did to you."  He took a breath and I delighted in the simple pleasure of feeling his chest rise and fall next to me.  He took my shoulders in his large hands and pushed me back slightly.  He stared down into my eyes, those twin locks of recalcitrant hair of his falling down on his forehead and his jaw tight with intensity.  "Listen.  The citizens of the Republic trust the judicial system and the Jedi to oversee justice.  If you try to atone to individuals, I can guarantee there won't be enough parts of you for them to tear off in vengeance.  The Republic considers your debt paid, and so do the Jedi.  If you still insist on making amends, then pay your debts in acts of honor and compassion, not self-abuse."

I gaped at him.  "How'd you get so wise, flyboy?" I asked softly.

He smiled again.  "You pick up a few things when you hang around with so many Jedi.  And Bastila's sermons are on par with long-term siege weaponry.  I couldn't help but absorb some of the damage."

I laughed out loud then.  "This is why I love you," I said.

"And here I thought it was just my roguish good looks."

"There's a little of that, too," I said, pushing him up against the wall.  "And that outfit doesn't hurt, either."

He grinned.  "So you like the Corellian creampuff look?"

"You look very dashing," I said.  "While I, on the other hand--"

"Look delectable," he finished for me.

"I was going to say I look like the top of a celebration cake," I said.

"Delectable," he repeated, lowering his lips to mine.

I leaned into the kiss.  The warm, sweet, heavy taste of Corellian Brandy, mixed with the taste that was unique to him warmed me.  I felt light-headed.  My heartbeat went into hyperdrive, and I reveled in the feel of his body against mine.  It felt like another lifetime when we'd cuddled in the Hawk's cockpit and I wanted to go back there.  "Hey, I've got an idea," I said, mood vastly improved and mischief dancing once again through my veins. "I bet these speeders have roomy back seats."

* * *


	55. Aggressive Negotiation

Aggressive Negotiation

Carth

I put my hand on her neck and stroked her collarbone with my thumb.  "I bet they do," I said.  "But we're not exactly free right now."  I was on something of a mission, after all.

"I'll make some excuses," she said, pressing into me.  "Or better yet, we can just run really fast and be at the spaceport in ten minutes.  The Ebon Hawk's deserted.  We could have the place to ourselves."  

"Your offer is tempting," I said, smiling down at her.  Part of me wanted nothing more than to throw caution and responsibility to the winds and take her back to the Hawk and--"But we both know we wouldn't have ten minutes alone before someone would come looking for us."

She shifted her bodice, making a face.  "Ten minutes should about do it," she said.  "I'm not asking for much here." A distinctly grumpy edge entered her tone.  "Don't we deserve a little bit of fun?"  

She burrowed her hands under the Corellian vest I wore.  An intoxicating, feminine scent rose from the folds of her dress and I buried my face in her hair, breathing it in.  My conversation with Canderous had introduced some dangerous concepts that were looking more and more attractive by the minute.  It took effort to strengthen my resolve.

She didn't help when she pressed little kisses at the corners of my mouth.  I let out a long, drawn-out sigh.  "Sweetheart, there's nothing I'd like better right now, but it--it isn't the right time," I said, forcibly ignoring the large part of me that said now was the perfect time, and would be several times over.

"What do you mean it's not the right time?" she said, exasperated.  "You want right?  I'll give you right.  How about right here, right now, and right in front of everybody if you don't put out pretty soon, Flyboy," she groused.

I couldn't help laughing.  "Show a little restraint and I'll make it worth your while," I said, to myself as well as her.  "Ten minutes in the crew quarters of the Hawk isn't nearly enough time or enough space for everything I want to do to you.  Like--" I leaned down and whispered into her ear and had the rare and supreme satisfaction of watching the blush color her cheeks.

She leaned back and gave me a smoldering look.  It could have been the breeze that made her shiver.  I like to think it was my promise.

_The galaxy must be going to hell in a handbasket_, I thought.  I'm in love with the former Dark Lord of the Sith, and inspired to brash romanticism by a Mandalorian.  "Come on," I said.  "Let's go back inside and do the hero thing.  Or at least get you a wrap."

"I'll be fine," she said.  "This is supposed to be Darellian formal wear."  She made a face.  "If it's standard-issue, and I'm really from Darellia, then it's really not hard to see why I went bad the first time around.  This dress is like walking around in your own mobile torture unit."

"But it's a very attractive torture unit," I pointed out.  "I like the laces."

She threw me another hot look.  "I'll remember that," she said, with just the slightest hint of wickedness in her tone.  "Fine," she said with a sigh.  "You win.  I'll go in and be a good girl."  She shook a finger at me.  "But sooner or later, you're going to have to be a bad boy."

I followed her back into the reception, laughing.  I marveled at the changes I felt in myself.  Even back on Taris, I think I laughed more in her company than I had since I lost everything.  That she could bring laughter to me so quickly after another descent into darkness--that, even more than the Jedi powers she commanded, or her skill with the lightsaber, was her true gift.  And the Jedi Order were fools if they couldn't see it.

My thoughts turned to the real reason for my journey out of doors.  As I re-entered the room behind Revan, I crossed over to Canderous and slipped the garage access card from the inside pocket of my vest.  He clasped my hand and I passed the card to him.  We passed without words.  None were needed.  On this, at least, the Mandalorian and I finally understood one another.

* * *


	56. Reconaissance

Reconaissance

Canderous

For a man who has no use for uptight parties, I have attended my share of them.  In the time of the clans, our celebrations were boisterous, flowing with ale and tales of glory.  Not these superficially bland affairs were glory and prestige are earned with words that have double meanings and smiles that conceal daggers within them.

But a warrior with as much battle-time as I have logged learns to seize opportunities whenever he can.  I was using this opportunity to perform reconaissance into alien territory.  I kept to the shadows, and observed my target.

Bastila glided from one crowd to another, accompanied by one of the Jedi Masters, her face a mask of politeness and her princess nature taking over.  More than once, I regretted the fact that my regenerative implant did not allow the hazy fog of drink to settle on me for long.  If I wanted to spend more than ten minutes inebriated, I needed to drink fast, and continue to do so.  By the time I left Onasi's room, I'd been sober again, but our conversation stuck fast in my mind, as did his alcoholic contributions to it.

My own inhibitions, such as they are, faded so quickly in the presence of drink, that I suspected it wasn't the brandy that made me dismiss them--just the validation.

It felt good to have come to a decision.  My first target was Mission.  I caught the little blue Twi'lek hiding behind a potted plant.

"What sort of trouble are you in now, Little Blue?" I asked.

"None, I swear," she said, eyes wide and innocent.  "Only--hide me.  Please?"

"From whom?" I asked, cracking my knuckles.

She glanced towards the door.  "There's a Devaronian--Borx'amatto.  He's some sort of holojournalist, or holovid agent or something.  He keeps hounding me for an interview.  He won't take no."  She touched her belt mournfully.  "And the jungle did something to my stealth emitter, so I can't sneak past him."

"And Zaalbar didn't intimidate him enough?"  I looked to where she pointed.  A Devaronian swung his head back and forth, scanning the crowd.  Behind him stood three Gammorreans.  I guess a single Wookiee wouldn't be a serious threat to that bunch.  And--I squinted.  "I remember him from Taris.  He came to Davik's estate once.  Works for the Exchange."

"Oh!" Mission squeaked.  "He's coming this way!"

I spotted a small access door close to the palm.  It was half a man's height--the kind of door normally used by serving droids to enter and exit from the kitchens.  However, I had a larger objective to consider.  "I'll help you, kid," I said.  "But I need you to do me a favor as well."

"Anything," she whispered frantically, pressing herself further into the branches of the palm.  I leaned down and whispered my demands in her ear.

She looked up at me, a slight frown on her face.  "Uhh--okay, I guess.  If it's for a good cause."

"It is.  And I'll pay you back."

"Done." She spit into her palm and extended her hand.  I did the same, then used our joined hands to pull her out of the plant and push her into the access door.  "Go," I said.  "Leave it in my room, and tell no one."

The panel slid closed and I straightened and turned.  The Devaronian was closer, his eyes still searching the room.  I stepped forward, away from the panel.  "Borx'amatta," I said.  "It's been quite a while."

His eyes widened when he saw me.  Mandalorians don't have what would be considered formal wear.  We have dress armor that displays our clan heraldry.  Someone in the Governor's staff had taken the time to manufacture a pretty good imitation of Ordo clan dress armor, and I found I'd missed having an excuse to watch its effect on people.  Among my people it would have caused a stir--clan Ordo was a powerful clan, due to our status as Mandalore's primary battle troops, but we rarely mingled with the other clans.  "Canderous of Ordo," he said.  "It is remarkable that you did not perish at Taris."

"I'm hard to kill that way," I said.

"Yes," he said, a small, oily smile curving his lips.  "Hailed as a hero of the Star Forge by the Republic.  How very noble of you."

I narrowed my eyes.  "I couldn't have asked for a more glorious battle.  I fought at the side of Mandalore's conqueror."

"Indeed?"  His horns perked forward.  I didn't like the speculative look he was giving me.  "In Davik Kang's stolen ship.  The Exchange was very--interested to hear that Davik's ship survived Taris, but Davik himself failed to."

"You can blame Calo Nord for that," I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.  The last thing I needed was for the crime syndicate to take an interest in me.  Not that I couldn't handle whatever pathetic attempts they'd throw my way, but I just wasn't in the mood right now.  I had other things to consider, other plans to advance.  "That crazy bastard was the one who suicided with a Thermal Detonator while standing right next to Davik."  I failed to mention Davik's body had already been assuming room temperature when Nord pulled the insane ace from his sleeve.

"And you stole his ship."

I stepped forward, heedless of the Gammorreans flanking him.  "Are you calling me a thief?"

"Oh, I would never dream of it," Borx said.  "I'm merely interested in the fascinating story of you and your companions.  The Exchange never need know of any...suspicious activity surrounding the Ebon Hawk.  For a price."

"How about your continuous existence without the aid of a life-support droid?" I growled.

"How about--Mission Vao?"

I grabbed him by the front of his robes, the holo-badge of his press pass unclipped from them and fell to the floor.  "Find another target," I said.  "And leave that kid alone."

He smiled again, even while struggling for breath.  Beside him, the Gammorreans began to chatter in their squealing pig-language.  "No--" he gasped out, "That won't be necessary, boys.  Mr. Ordo and I were coming to a deal."  To me, he said.  "I wish her no harm.  In fact, I represent an individual who would like nothing more than to see her succeed.  On a galactic scale."

"She's fine where she is," I said.  "You trot back to the Exchange and tell them whatever the hell you want about the Hawk.  And then you'd better stockpile your weapons, because I'll be coming for you, then."  I dropped him and walked off, shoving past the Gammorreans.

I spotted Revan and Carth coming back through a door and raised my eyebrows, but Carth stepped over to me.  He clasped my hand and I felt the smooth coldness of a speeder passcard in his palm.  I took it from him and slipped it into my own pocket.

I paused to let Juhani know that Mission had sneaked away from the party to escape the unwanted attentions of the media, and said I was doing the same.  She was kind enough not to point out that the media, except for Borx, had all been too intimidated to approach me.  "I will be leaving soon, as well," she said.  "The governor's estate boasts a bath house and we have been invited to take advantage of it."

I nodded, remembering the terrified stutterings of the Chadra-fan who'd led me to my room.  He'd muttered something about a bath house, clothes, and a party.  I ignored most of his ramblings, and he faded in the middle of a recitation of spa services, finally realizing that he'd been quoting the benefits of cosmetic facial treatments to a Mandalorian.

I returned to the potted plant only to discover its popularity had increased.  I scowled at its new occupant, a young human around Mission's age.  She had large, liquid dark eyes.  "You're a Mandalorian, aren't you," she said.

"What gave it away?" I asked.

"I've never met a Mandalorian before.  Not up close."

"What is this, a petting zoo?  Get lost, kid, I'm not an exhibit."

"I was searching for a quiet place," she said, unaffected by my scowl.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?"

She chuckled.  "No one presumes to tell the ambassador from Yavin 8 when her bedtime is."

I blinked.  "You're an ambassador?"

She laughed outright now.  "I am.  Varenna Aktil.  My people are the Melodie."

"Ah."  Now I understood.  The Melodie passed through a transformation that rendered them aquatic creatures by their mid to late teens.

"So, Mr. Mandalore.  Are you a hunting man?" she asked.

I raised an eyebrow.  "What do you know of hunting?"

"I know it can be found on Yavin 13.  I recently spent a most challenging holiday there."

"Why are you telling me this?" I wanted to know.

She laughed again.  "I'm afraid I rather bored your compatriot, Commander Onasi with tales of my hunting expeditions on Yavin 13.  He suggested you as a more appreciative audience."

"He did, huh?"  I looked over to where Carth stood, very close to Revan as she shifted uncomfortably in that ridiculous-looking frock.  "Well, you've got five minutes to interest me, before I shake the dust of this room from my boots."  My eyes drifted once again to Bastila, looking infinitely more at ease in her Alderaanian dress.  I am not a patient man, and having made a decision, I didn't see a point in delaying its execution.

"Yavin 13 is beautiful in its wildness.  There are no major urban centers, only hunting stops.  The predators there are particularly challenging."

I smirked, and wondered what this little girl would consider challenging.  Nevertheless, a flash of excitement shot through me.  "Predators?"  

The Melodie ambassador nodded.  "Wolf-beasts the natives call Ikusai.  Pack hunters, aggressive and intelligent ones.  They have even been known to ambush the natives and attack settlements."

_Onasi, you genius_, I thought.  "Tell me more," I said.

The time of the clans has passed, of that, there can be no doubt.  My people are scattered remnants.  But as long as there are those around to remember the ways of the clans, I am compelled to keep to them.  And in matters such as this, I know of no other way.

My reconaissance at the party proved useful, but when its usefulness ended, I slipped out, leaving politics to those better suited.  Instead, I made my own preparations in secrecy.  

I made a decision in the jungle.  I confirmed it in Carth's room.  I acted on it now.

* * *


	57. Liquid Interlude

Liquid Interlude

Bastila

The reception guests began to leave in earnest, no longer sneaking out in twos and threes.  My facade had maintained true, and I discovered that the Jedi Masters had not made the knowledge of my fall to the Dark Side become common.  The cloaked edge to some of the speculative conversations about the possible existence of a live Revan testified to the wisdom in that.   But news of my capture and torture at the hands of Saul Karath and Lord Malak had, and as much as I was sought out for my status as a battle hero, I was also sought out as a curiosity--a survivor of the atrocities of the Sith Lord.  I was exceedingly grateful I'd chosen to wear my hair down this evening--the scars on the back of my neck were not for public speculation.

I finally made my bows to the Council and to the governor and dragged my feet back to the room the governor's aides had led me to.  I wanted nothing more than to put my feet up and sleep.  Still, I reflected, I at least had a better evening than Revan.  Darellian fashion seems to be more the result of drunken cantina challenges than any sense of aesthetics.  But that may simply be my Alderaanian arrogance talking.

I had no sooner returned to my room, and discovered my clothing cleaned and neatly folded on the dresser, when a knock sounded softly at my door.  I put on the provided lounging robe and went to answer it.

Revan stood outside in her bare feet and a similar lounging robe, her face tired, but her grin impish.  "Come on," she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me through the doorway.

"Where, Noura?  I need to rest."  And to think.  There was still some manner of unresolvedness in my dealings with Canderous, and I needed time and meditation to find the right words to--apologize.

"Weren't you paying attention?" she said.  "They have a bath house here.  And I'll be a rancor's backside if I'm not taking advantage of it.  And I insist you join us."

"Us?"  I swear I will never understand Revan and her sense of social interaction.  I have envied it, and cursed it, but I have not been able to fathom it.  

She is the closest thing I have to a sister, and I am beginning to understand why siblings quarrel.  "Revan, I am exhausted.  I wish nothing more than to sleep."

"You wish to accompany us to the bath house," she intoned in a low, persuasive voice.

"Stop that," I said.  "It's frivolous use of the Force."

"Not when it's for your own good," she said, then looked at me with the merriment gone from her face.  "You saved us all back there.  If it weren't for you, we would have floundered forever."  She shuddered.  "I wasn't thinking clearly until you put the Force-bind on us.  I would never have thought of that--never realized there was something there," she said quietly.  "I didn't even think to be cautious when we went into the Force to find Mission, and I almost lost us all."

I hadn't noticed she was tugging us down the hall as she talked.  "My caution came from fear, not wisdom," I said.  "It's nothing to be commended."

She waved her hand.  "Bastila, did you ever think that sometimes fear is a sign of wisdom?  Only an idiot is fearless all the time."

"But fear paralyzes," I protested.

She shook her head.  "Okay, we're not fighting over this now.  I spent half the night listening to Jolee and Master Vrook go on and on about it."

"Oh, dear," I said faintly.  Jolee's views would surely outrage and enrage the Council.

We came to the entrance to the bath house.  "Yeah," Revan said.  "I think Jolee might have actually made a dent in their stubbornness."

"I fear the implications of that," I said.  "But I really don't wish to go in there," I said.

"Bastila," she said sharply and stopped.  Through the bond, I felt frustration and anger, but something told me it would not be a good time to point that out to her.  "I am trying to be your friend," she said, looking directly into my eyes.  Once again, I felt the tremors of power ripple through the Force between us, and some other, indefinable element that was purely Revan alone.  "I care a lot about you, Bastila," she said.

"I--"  _Jedi are not supposed to form attachments_.  The commandment leaped to the forefront of my brain.  Yet the jungle changed me, made me begin to question the meanings behind the tenets of the code.  That, most of all, frightened me.  Without the code, I had no moral compass.  I genuinely feared what my future might hold without the strict rote of the code to anchor me.

She smiled at me.  "You know, this is really hard for me to say, but I--owe you.  A lot.  And I don't feel like I've been a good friend."

"Nonsense," I said, adrift at her stark honesty.  "You pulled me back from the Dark Side.  More than once, now."  I looked down at our joined hands, hers rough and callused, mine smooth.

She shook her head.  "I still sense that there's a loss inside you.  I want to fix it."

I dropped my hand from hers.  "That," I said quietly, firmly, "is something you cannot fix."  It had nothing to do with her, or our bond.  "It is a journey I must make on my own."

She pulled me through the door.  "Well, I can at least make sure you have soft and glowing skin while you go."

Mission and Juhani greeted us from the low benches that lined the wall.  A protocol droid waited next to the staircase, and Revan said, "We'll take the works."

"This way, madam," the droid said, and led us all down a wide staircase molded from marblecrete and lined with potted jungle flora.  Polished brass railings divided the stairs from molded tubs filled with water, creating waterfall and fountain effects alongside the staircase.

The droid led us through a heavy set of double doors, into a spacious room whose walls were lined with privacy cubicles.

"Ohh, yes!" Revan murmured.  The room's focal point, the large sunken tub filled with water, was large enough to accommodate the bridge crew of a capital cruiser.

Mission's eyes were huge and round.  "I don't think I've ever seen that much water in one place that wasn't an ocean," she said.  

"Water-bathing is a frivolous waste in much of the galaxy," I said, feeling the tiniest bit of remorse for the way I myself looked covetously at the bubbling waters.

"Not on Darellia," Revan said.  "There are thousands of lakes on the main continent alone, not to mention the oceans.  Everybody bathes in water."

"How do you know?" Mission said.

Revan paused.  "I--I guess I don't."  She lowered her head.  "Not really."

"Oh--oh, damn.  Revan, I'm sorry," Mission said.  "Me and my big, fat, stupid mouth."

Revan shook her head.  "It's okay," she said.

I would not have said anything prior to my ordeal in the jungle, but there is something different about me now, perhaps a greater understanding of the compassion Jedi are encouraged to display.  "Revan really did hail from Darellia.  That much, at least, is the truth.  Like me, she was brought to the enclave at age six."

"Which doesn't give me much time to accumulate memories."

"Of course it does," Juhani said.  "Age six is not too early to learn the customs of your homeworld."

"Hey...that means I have a few memories."  Revan's tone brightened.  I would not tell her that her memories may very well be from the data reprogrammed into her after her mind-wipe.

A Twi'lek woman greeted us.  "In what treatments may I interest you, honored mistresses?" 

I simply wanted a bath, and said so, but Revan overrode me.  "Live a little, Bastila.  That's an order."

"Oh, very well," I said, and selected a facial treatment with borba-melons and a hand massage.  Another smiling Twi'lek female led me to a side room, where she mixed a pale orange paste.  

The door opened and another Twi'lek entered, followed by Mission.  "Hey, you're getting a facial, too?"

I nodded.  "Noura insists."

"Not hard to follow orders like that, is it?"

I smiled.  Her enthusiasm rivaled Iridian plague in its resistance to immunity.  The unobtrusive Twi'lek indicated I should lay back.  She placed slices of borba-melon over my eyes and the cool, liquid feel of the fruit sank into my skin.  She then began to paint my face with the concoction she mixed.  It was cold, but not unpleasant, and I found myself relaxing.

"We will leave you now, madam and miss.  Please relax and enjoy your treatment."  I felt the presences of the Twi'leks recede.

"Umm, Bastila?" Mission said beside me after a long moment of silence.

"How can I help?"

"I--is it okay if I ask your advice about something."

"Of course, Mission.  I am here to help," I said.  "I realize we haven't been on the best of terms, and I do apologize for--my behavior of late."  I was grateful for the borba-melon over my eyes.

"Hey, it's okay.  Can't say I get it, though."

I sighed.  "I don't fully understand myself."  That the symbol of my shame and weakness should become a source of strength confused me beyond reason.  Never mind the feelings I discovered for the man himself.  "But that is not what you wish to speak of, is it?"

"No, well.  I mean--I can't talk to Noura, because of Carth, and to be honest, Big Z's out, too.  I need someone with lips to talk to."

I smiled involuntarily, and felt the concoction on my face begin to crumble.  "Lips are a requirement?"

"I--yeah."  She was silent for a long moment.  I was about to speak when she broke the silence first.  "When I followed Dustil into the jungle, he caught me."

I nodded, then realized she probably couldn't see me.  "Go on."

"Well, before he--knocked me out, I guess--"

"We believe he put you in some type of Force-stasis that bound you to him for as long as you remained unconscious."  A sudden thought occurred to me.  "Do you fear a Force-bond between the two of you?"

"No," she said firmly.  "He's nothing to me.  N-nothing."  She sniffed suddenly and I sensed great sadness from her.

"Mission, what is it?" I asked, concerned now.  She had borne up well in the journey back from the jungle, and I should have expected her to have a reaction sooner or later.  I'd just expected Revan to be the one she would turn to.

"I'm sorry, Bastila.  I just--before he knocked me out, he--"

"What?" My thoughts traveled down a road with dreadful consequences.

She sniffed again.  "He k-kissed me."

I breathed a sigh of relief.  "That's all?" I said.

It was the wrong thing to say.  "All?" Her tone vibrated with disbelieving outrage.  "_All?_"  She sighed exasperatedly.  "I should've figured nobody would understand."

"Wait," I said quickly. "Please, give me a chance."  The facial concoction cracked and flaked and I grimaced, making it worse.

She sighed again.  "It sounds silly, but--I've always thought--I mean, I know my life didn't make it seem possible, but I always believed--hoped--well, that my first kiss would be something special."  She laughed derisively.  "That's a hoot, isn't it.  I mean, if I'd stayed on Taris, it was only a matter of time before I'd've ended up in one of the gangs, or ended up one of Davik's joygirls.  Not exactly good odds for having a real romantic first kiss, huh?"

"Mission--"  I could not help her.  My own girlish dreams served as a source of shame for me.  "My first kiss was an awful affair," I said, allowing myself to remember mortified adolescent fumblings.  "Master Oornas interrupted us.  I was so embarrassed.  At the time, I believed I would be expelled from the Order.  As it was, I never did look up from my texts in Astrogation again that year."

Mission laughed.  "At least nobody was around to see me.  But I--I had the chance to shoot him, and I didn't take it.  This could have all been prevented if I could've kept my head."

"The Force works in mysterious ways," I said.  For once, I did not say the words with the hollow, sermonistic feeling that usually accompanied them.  "If you had killed Dustil, he would never have found his Master.  Carth would have lost his son, and we would have been unable to subdue the Sith spirit that lurks in the jungle."  I reached out and blindly felt for her hand.

She squeezed my fingers.  "I--thanks.  But I'm not going to get far in this galaxy if I go all melty every time a guy plants one on me."  She paused for a moment.  "Well, I could, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for that kind of work."

"Don't you dare even consider it, young lady," I said.  "You're meant for more than--" I searched for acceptable words, "--negotiable affection."

She laughed out loud then.  "Ick.  This stuff is getting crusty."

I shared her laughter then.  "Thank you, Mission.  For--letting me help."

"Hey, no problem.  It's not your fault Dustil's Hutt-slime."

I didn't have the confidence to tell her that the Force told me this wasn't the last she'd be seeing of him.  That would wait for another time.

"In fact, I'd say he was the only mistake Noura ever made."  I also didn't tell her that I believed more and more that Noura didn't make mistakes so much as twist her immediate universe to accommodate the consequences of her actions.

The door opened again and our hostesses returned.  My hostess removed the melon slices from my eyes and placed a warm, damp cloth over my face.  The concoction loosened and I felt my skin breathe again.  "This way, madam," she said.  "You may leave your robe."

She led me to a 'fresher unit where she chipped the last of the facial pack from my skin, and applied a warm cloth to my face to take the residue away.  "Now to the baths, madam.  There is refreshment for you there."

She led me out to the main room.  Noura and Juhani were already in the tub, and Noura held up a crystal fluted glass.  "Cheers, Bastila.  Fantastic, isn't it?"

I shrugged out of my robe and stepped quickly into the bath.  Juhani handed me a glass.  I peered into it.  It smelled suspiciously similar to whatever had been on my face ten minutes ago.

"Melon cordial," Juhani said.  "It is not--unpleasant."

I took a sip.  The overly sweet, faintly alcoholic drink did indeed refresh me.  "I hardly think the Council will approve of this," I said.

Mission laughed.  "Let them roll in jungle funk and see if they can resist."

"It does feel good to be clean," Juhani said.  "The taint of our experience will not wash away with water, but it is a beginning."

I closed my eyes.  "You're right, of course."

Beside me, I heard a splash.  "This is great!  And--hey, is that chocolate?"

My eyes snapped open.  "Chocolate?"

Revan's irreverence has had a permanently-changing effect on me.  I used the Force to bring a piece of the delicacy to my hands, and bit into it.

"What will happen to us now?" Mission asked.

Revan shrugged.  "I think we deserve a vacation," she said.  "Time to heal."  She threw me a look.

I met her stare.  My time in the jungle taught me some things about myself that no vacation would be able to erase.  And truthfully, I didn't want to heal from this new self-knowledge.  I wanted to face it, to deal with it, and learn from it.

"So where should we go?  Coruscant?"

"Possibly," Revan said.  "I was thinking more like...Zeltros."

"The pleasure planet?" I asked, scandalized.  The mere mention of the hedonistic system and its pheromone-gifted inhabitants made me blush.

"Sure.  I've heard they have food there that can make you--"

"Ahem!" I cleared my throat and nodded towards Mission.

"Hey, you have to be living under a rock to not have heard at least one story about the Zeltrons," she said.  "Besides, I'm no kid, you know."

"Well, _I'm_ uncomfortable with the way the conversation's going," I said.

A green Twi'lek woman stepped into the room.  "Miss Vao, Madam Den Hades, your massages await."

"Full-body massage."  Revan hmmed.  "An incomparable galactic pleasure."

The last massage she had taken advantage of had been on Taris, in Davik Kang's estate, where Canderous and I accompanied her.  Back then, I feared the streak of hedonism in her would grease her path down the Dark Side.

Canderous had been amused when she rolled over my protests at seeking out Davik's Twi'lek slaves.  "We can't make a move until sunset," she said, "and I don't fancy sitting around this room like a target while Davik sends his assassins to test my mettle.  I'd rather not be found."

Canderous sneered at me.  "Take your Jedi friend along, too.  Davik's Twi'leks know enough tricks to loosen even her up."

"I--how dare you!" I sputtered.

He laughed at me.  Infuriating thug, I thought.  The encounter set the tone for our relationship throughout the quest for the Star Forge.  

After leaving Taris, Mission often crept out of the starboard crew quarters to curl up in the bunk next to Zaalbar on the port side, and as a result, I often woke to find Canderous, evicted from his own bunk, taking up residence in the bunk next to me, not always asleep.

He intimidated me, and I responded by taking refuge in supercilious pontificating on the rightness of the Jedi code, concerned only with trying to force him to see how much in error his life had been.  The honor hidden behind that brutality, I could not see.  Later, I did not want to.  I sought him out only for the violent, brutal part of him.

"Bastila," Juhani's voice intruded on my thoughts above the lulling bubble of the waters.  "I sense you are troubled."

_You have no idea_, I thought.  "I suppose I am thinking of the future."  

The Cathar woman shifted, sending tiny waves lapping against my skin.  "Perhaps it will help to talk."

I kept my eyes closed.  She was correct.  I did need to talk to someone.  Perhaps if I had talked _to _my comrades on the Ebon Hawk, instead of _at _them, I might have been more aware of the anger and resentment blossoming in me, and been able to resist Malak aboard the Leviathan.

But I was not used to having confidantes, to speaking to others who would listen without judgement.  The Masters insisted they did not judge, yet how could they not, when their whim determined our progress as padawans.  I kept my eyes closed so I would not have to see the recriminations in Juhani's eyes.  "I--I've done someone a grave disservice," I said.  "And myself, as well.  I know less than I believed I did.  I've no idea how to make it right.  How does one return from a fall such as mine?"

"I descended to the Dark Side as well," she reminded me.  "I have not had the chance to make amends to the one I hurt.  But Jolee has given me some advice which I will pass on to you.  He told me that a Jedi cannot fully trust in her feelings until she learns to understand them."

"Down there, in the jungle," I said hesitantly.  "I discovered that what I believed to be my greatest weakness turned out to be the only strength I could count on."  My cheeks burned with confused embarrassment.  "I don't know what to think about that, what lesson I can take from it."

"I believe it is the understanding of our emotions that the Masters attempt to teach us.  Quatra wished me to understand my rage.  It has been a hard lesson to learn, and I have been tested many times."

I wondered then, is it arrogance that I must understand?  Passion?  Violence?  The desire for power?  

Juhani must have sensed my reticence.  "Do you know one of the first lessons she forced me to do?"

"What?"

"You are aware that my homeworld was destroyed by the Mandalorians?"

"Yes.  During the war."  I remembered on Korriban, the Mandalorian who had tried to buy Juhani from Noura.  I remembered well Noura's fury.  She had encouraged Juhani to slay the cretin.  My voice had been the one of reason when we talked aboard the Ebon Hawk afterwards.  Juhani thankfully had taken my advice.  But later, on Kashyyyk, Xor turned up again, and this time, Noura didn't consult with me.  Juhani's retelling of the events chilled me.  Noura had worn a little smile that counteracted the sudden deadness in her eyes when Xor asked her for a price for Juhani.  _"She was so friendly," _Juhani said, _"when she told him that her price was to see him writhe on the ground and watch his own entrails be trampled.  I feared for her soul."_  Ironic, then, that it was my soul that nearly perished only a short time later.__

"Millions perished.  My family escaped, to the hell that was the Lower City of Taris."

"And Revan freed you."

"She released me from a cage, true."  The Cathar shifted again.  From her movements, I determined that she had moved from one side of the large tub to the other.  "But no one could free me of my blind fury at the Mandalorians, for attacking my homeworld without provocation." 

I shifted myself, still keeping my eyes closed as I sipped more of the melon cordial.  "I am surprised you were accepted as a padawan with such a fierce rage."  The water buoyed me and I let my body float, buffeted by the currents from the aeration jets.

"The masters indeed cautioned me, and Quatra, as well.  So Quatra, immediately after accepting me as her padawan, forced me to confront my own hatred.  She made me study the Mandalorians extensively. Not simply about their battle history with the Republic, but their technological history, their origins, their culture and beliefs.  She would not teach me a single thing, she said, until I could demonstrate the ability to think like a Mandalorian."

"For a Jedi Master to advocate encouraging such violent tendencies in a padawan--it's a scandal," I said faintly.  In the distance, I heard the heavy doors opening and braced myself for the attentions of the Twi'leks once again.

"I believe she knew what she was doing.  She made me understand that it was not hatred that drove the Mandalorians.  And it could not be hatred that drove me.  I do not condone many things in the Mandalorian culture, but I understand now why they fight the way they do.  I understand that they have a sense of justice, just as the Republic does.  I do not hate them simply for being who and what they are."

The temperature in my cheeks rose, and it had little to do with the temperature of the bathwater.  I sunk down in the bath, letting the frothing waters cover my head.  The sound of rushing waters filled my ears, and the liquid teased my scalp.  I wished I could remain forever beneath the warm waters, buoyed and weightless, living only in the moment.  I understood now why Revan sought the Rakata oceans.  There is a peace of the senses that can only be found in water.

But alas, I needed to breathe air.  I surfaced and slicked the wet hair out of my face.  "I--have come to realize that Mandalorians are somewhat more--complex than believed," I said to Juhani, blinking the water away from my eyes..

But she was not looking at me.  She looked past me to something behind me, yellow eyes wide.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.  A very large, masculine hand, rather than a small female Twi'lek one, and a familiar voice with the timbre of mountains crumbling said,  "Glad to hear it, Princess."

The Twi'lek hostesses scurried into the bath chamber.  "Honored sir!  These are the women's baths!  You are not permitted--"  The green Twi'lek's hysterical voice halted with an abrupt squeak.

Canderous's hands slid into the water as I turned to glare up at him.  "You great oaf!  What's the meaning--"  I was cut off as he lifted me under the arms and slung me over his shoulder.  I shrieked, soaking wet and stark naked.  "Canderous!  Put me down."

Slung over his shoulder as I was, I spotted the reason why the Twi'lek's outburst had ended so suddenly.  Carth Onasi stood behind Canderous, a blaster pointed at her.  My mouth dropped open.  He winked at me.  "Everybody settle down," he said easily.  "This is a Mandalorian Bridal Raid.  Nobody interferes, and nobody gets hurt."

* * *


	58. Declaration of Intent

A/N: I have probably taken some liberties with Mandalorians here--I plead poetic license.  There's woefully little on the 'net about them.  I will be sure and inform Canderous of any lapses in tradition.  However, this is what a Mandalorian gets when he shows up and makes a romance writer tell his story. g

Declaration of Intent

Bastila

"What?" I shrieked, beating my fists against Canderous's now-soaking wet back.  He turned around again, heading for the doors, and I caught a glimpse of Juhani leaping from the bath, water streaming from her coat.  

She threw out a hand.  "Mandalorian!"  she said, her voice low and rippling with the power of the Force.  Canderous slowed and turned, swinging me out of view of her.  I fought and squirmed, but his arm around my waist was like a harness of iron.

"What, Cathar?"

I felt something hit the backs of my legs.  The robe I had worn here.  I heard another commotion as Mission and Revan came around the corner.  Revan's feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her rump with a painful howl.  "What in the name of Malak's lower mandible is going on here?" she shrieked.  Upon registering that it was Canderous standing in the middle of a growing puddle of bathwater, and myself the cause of the puddle, she glared up at him.  "Ordo, if this is just a stunt to see naked women, I warn you, there will be hell to pay!"

Canderous simply growled.  I felt the growl rumble from his chest up into his throat, courtesy of the way my own bare body was draped over his shoulder.  _This is humiliating_, I thought furiously.  _There is no emotion, there is peace_.  Or there will be, after I blister his ears.  The shock of the cool air after the warm water stiffened my muscles, and gooseflesh rose on my skin.

"You have your witnesses," Juhani said.  "Declare your intentions to her clan."  Her voice was firm, implacable.  "Or suffer dishonor."

The world lurched and I found myself placed firmly on the floor in front of Canderous.  My whole body pinkened with embarrassment.

His eyes traveled down my body and a red flush crept up his neck.  He shoved the robe at me roughly.

To say I was confused would be a galactic understatement.  I put on the robe and pulled the shreds of my dignity around me like a shield.  "Give me one reason why I shouldn't cut your head from your shoulders for that," I said icily. 

In response, he put his large hands on either side of my head, threading his fingers through my wet hair, and stared down into my eyes.  His jaw tightened and his eyes burned holes into me, swimming with something deep and indefinable.  I suddenly knew what it must have been like for a Republic soldier in the Mandalorian wars, to be on the receiving end of a stare like that.  Duracrete wouldn't keep him from whatever it was he wanted.  I felt myself go weak and curled my toes against the tile floor to keep my footing.

"I will keep you," he said, in a low and urgent voice rippling with intensity.  My brows knit together in puzzlement, but he didn't give me a chance to speak.  "I will build you a fine clanhold, and defend it from all invaders.  I will give you strong sons, and cunning daughters, and I will train them to conquer worlds in your name."

"I--"  I opened my mouth to tell him I didn't want worlds, that he wasn't making sense, and that he was behaving like a shaved simian.  In response, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against mine in the gentlest of kisses.  

Mission's words in the other room returned to me.  "Melty" was the only word I could use to describe the feeling that flooded me.  My knees began to shake, sending uncontrollable tremors that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

"Are you crazy?" Revan asked.

Canderous growled again.  "You have your declaration.  Challenge it on Yavin 13."

Juhani nodded.  "You have three days."  She tossed my lightsaber to Canderous.  He caught it and tucked it into his belt.

Revan looked from Juhani to me, and finally to Canderous.  "Just one damn minute," she said.  She stepped forward.

Carth stepped around Canderous to block her way.  Her eyes widened.  "You, too?"

He shook his head wordlessly.  She looked from him to Canderous again.  "You _are _crazy," she said.  "Loose-screws-in-the-cockpit mad!"

"No," Canderous said, and picked me up bodily again.  "Just matrimonial."

He strode out the door, me in his arms, to a waiting speeder.  He tossed me into it, jumped into the driver's seat, and we sped off into the humid jungle night.

* * *


	59. Tradition

A/N: Hang in there, folks.  We're on the downward slide.  Definitely getting into the wrap-up stages.  Warm thanks to those who've posted reviews, especially you veterans who've hung in there from the early stages--Solo 7MBP and Shadow39, thank you--it's great to have support for B/C g Myxale, your English is superb, and yes, in spite of their differences, Canderous and Carth have sort of bonded.  Winterfox--muhahaha...my secret quest to convert infidels to the power of the romance genre is working! :P  Asrayu--You'd have to Force persuade me to stop writing!  Ninjette--I started this part of the plot to figure out what made me not like Bastila so much, and I found some depths to her I hadn't previously known existed.  Pupetmaster180--get thee hence to www.kotorfanfic.com if you want good Carth/Revan fanfics!

I read every one of the reviews I get, and I savor them.  So please, throw the starving fanficcer a review to gnaw on. :-D

Tradition

Revan

As one, the four of us ran through the double doors after Canderous.  When I made to go up the stairs, Carth snaked an arm around my waist and held me back.  "Let him go," he said quietly.

"What the hell was that all about?" I demanded.  Carth holstered his blaster but kept his grip on my waist.  I tightened the tie on my robe and glared at him.  He wore a grin that reminded me of a Corellian sand-panther--all teeth and ill intent.

Mission was biting her lips, trying not to smile.  I turned on her.  "Give it up, head-tails."

"I believe we have just borne witness to a traditional Mandalorian Bridal Raid."  It was Juhani who answered.

"A what?"  I stammered.

Juhani shrugged.  "Canderous has challenged us for the right to take Bastila as his wife, in the Mandalorian tradition."

"And you helped," I said to Carth.

He nodded.  "It was the least I could do."  The grin widened.

"The least--" I sputtered.  "I don't even know what a Mandalorian Bridal Raid is, but I'm already sure that based on that display, I'm not going to like it."

"Come on, Noura," Carth said, stepping closer to me.  "You know how he thinks.  Think like him. Once I did, I understood him a lot better."

"Why don't you enlighten me, then," I said, rubbing my eyes.  The Twi'lek girl had barely started on my shoulders before the commotion, and being so close to relaxation, only to have it ripped away from me at the last minute, made me crankier than a tauntaun in a sauna.

He put his hands on my shoulders.  "This is how a Mandalorian shows he's worth breeding with."

"Worth breeding with," I repeated inanely.  "You're giving me a visual that's going to take therapy for me to get over!"  I slumped against the wall, completely sandbagged.  "What happened to a nice dinner and a shiny rock?"

Mission snorted.  "Does that sound like something a Mandalorian would do?"  She laughed then.  "They take romance very seriously."

The Twi'lek spa women burst out the doors.  "Mistress," the green one said.  "Do you require aid?  Security are on their way."

I looked at Carth.  "Give me a reason, Flyboy," I said.  In a Coruscanti minute I could have the place swarming with soldiers.

He raised a hand to my face.  "He loves her, Noura.  He's trying to do the right thing the only way he knows how."

Well, that dropped the hyperdrive right out of my snub fighter.  "I--oh, frag it, anyway!"  I turned to the Twi'leks.  "Call off Security," I said.  "It was just a misunderstanding."  An ache started in my chest that I suspected would have me sniveling in a matter of minutes.  I remembered his words to me on the Ebon Hawk, when I beat the feelings out of him.  _"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't care that she wants me to punish, not to love."_  I sighed.  "Looks like bathtime's over," I said resignedly.

"As you wish, madam."  The Twi'leks bowed and went back into the bathhouse.

"So what do we do now?" I asked Carth.  "What do Mandalorian mamas do when their daughters turn up missing?"

It was Juhani who answered me.  "In three days' time, we meet on Yavin 13 and fight him to take back Bastila."

_As if there wouldn't be fighting involved_, I thought.  "What if we don't want her back?"  My injury had been agitated by my fall, and I couldn't figure out what hurt more, my head or my rear end.  "I mean, what if we refuse to fight?"

"Then we're saying she's not worthy to wed."

I frowned.  Canderous and I both knew I could take him down--any of the Jedi could, unless--"What if we win?"

"If we win, he's not worthy to marry her," she said.

Damn Mandalorians and their complicated ways, anyway.  I sulked.  "So we have to fight him, and put up a good fight, but still lose."  I turned to the man I loved.  "Why don't _you _fight him?" I asked sweetly.

Carth chuckled, if a little uncomfortably.  "I would, but--"

Juhani nodded.  "Traditionally, it would be the woman's family that the groom fights, then the leader of her clan.  And his kinsmen would act as his seconds."

"Even better," I said to Carth.  "If you're his second, I get to whomp your nicely-rounded butt."

"Puh-lease shut up," Mission begged.

Juhani continued with her lesson.  "After the fight, the clans haggle over her dowry and his bride-price.  When that is settled, then there is a feast and a celebration."

"You mean we have to hash out how much Bastila's worth?"  My head began to pound.  "Doesn't she have a say in this?"

Juhani nodded.  "Before we meet, she has ample opportunity to escape him."

"Do you think she would?"  Mission asked.  "They've been carrying on for weeks."

I shrugged.  "She might.  They didn't have the healthiest of relationships.  Even without the Force-bond between us, I wouldn't bet she intended for things with Canderous to progress any further than--"here I censored myself, for Mission's sake, "--casual--encounters.  She expected to return to the Jedi Enclave and hide there."

"Nothing casual about what I walked in on," Mission muttered.  "I thought you and Carth were bad."

"Spare me the details, please," I said, with another grumpy glance at Carth.  "I'll just get jealous again.  I can't _believe _that--sonofa_sith_--is _still _getting more than I am!"  I threw a scowl at the reason for my lag in that particular competition.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Patience," and I remembered his whispered promise in the speeder bay and the room got warmer.

"Zeltros!" I hissed back.  His eyebrows went up.

"Oh, eww!" Mission said, and stuck her fingers in her ears.

"Just tell me," I said to Carth, "that neither of them is in any real physical danger."  I was starting to worry in earnest about Bastila's reaction, once this sunk in.  Part of me was willing to shrug and say, that's what she gets for playing with fire, but the other part of me--the part who understood her, knew she didn't have the skills or experience to handle a situation like this gracefully.  Diplomacy training be damned, there were several ways this situation could turn out, and all of them involved somebody getting hurt.  Even the happiest ones.

"She's not," he said.  "Yavin 13 is popular with hunters.  He's taking her there to show her how well he can provide for her."

"Again--what about providing her with a nice rock and a poem?"  I threw up my hands and abandoned my frustration.  Through the Force-bond I shared with Bastila, I felt aggravation and confusion, and knew I couldn't offer her much help beyond soothing thoughts sent in return.

Carth shuddered.  "Can you imagine Canderous reciting poetry?"

Mission caught the shudder from Carth.  "More eww," she said.  "You guys are really scaring me."

"Actually--" Juhani began.

I put my hands over my ears.  "No more, please."  I started to walk back to the wing where our rooms were.  "You said we had three days?" I asked Juhani.

She nodded.

"I suppose the Jedi Council will have to be told something.  And I don't think I want to make a move without Jolee."

"Jolee has gone to the Jedi Enclave with the other Masters," Juhani said.  "He mentioned to me that they had requested his presence.  I believe they require his assistance with Dustil and his Master's unique situation."  She spared a glance towards Carth.

"Really?" I said and sighed.  "Since I don't seem to be getting a massage, I guess I'd better get dressed."  Speaking of dressed--I suddenly started to giggle, the laughter rippling up from my solar plexus and radiating outward in waves of slightly demented hysteria.

"What?" Carth said uncertainly.

I struggled for breath.  "Poor Bastila!"  I sucked in a new lungful of air around the giggles.  "She--hasn't--got--any clothes!"  I couldn't help it--I laughed so hard my ribs jabbed me sharply with each indrawn breath.  "Can--canderous--is--really--going to have--to--work--for it."  I leaned against the wall, and slid down it, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Right," Mission said.  "Is there anything we can or should be doing right now?  Because if not, I'm going to bed."

"The council should be informed," Juhani said.  "They are expecting us tomorrow morning."

The image of Master Vrook taking the news that his star padawan was at the center of sordid matrimonial hijinks with a Mandalorian had me laughing harder.  I staggered back to my feet and leaned on Carth while we walked down the hallway towards the guest rooms.

We'd made it around the corridor and into the wing where our rooms were before my mirth dissipated.  At the same time, the bottom dropped out of my stomach.  "Uh, Carth?  Canderous said Yavin 13, didn't he?"

He nodded.  Slowly, I turned to the light of my life, who licked his lips nervously.  I took his head in my hands and kissed him, hard, just to feel those lips on mine before I ripped them off and sold them to the highest bidder.  "I love you," I said to him.  Then I swore, in Old Corellian, Twi'leki, Huttese, and finally in a somewhat backwards Wookiee dialect.  "But I just might have to kill you for letting that lovesick bastard _steal my ship!_"

* * *


	60. Abandon

Abandon

Bastila

He was mad.  The jungle had affected all of the Jedi through the Force, and Carth through the disconnections in his soul.  I should have realized that Canderous could not be the only one to escape unscathed.

I shifted in the speeder seat until I was upright.  By that time, we had reached the gate to the spaceport.  The terrified guard dashed out of the way, and the gate began to lift, too slowly for us to make it.  I did not fancy attempting to explain a speeder crash to the port authorities.  I flung out a hand and called on the Force to move the heavy blast panels out of the way.  I wished I had time to savor the relief at having my connection to the Force once again untainted by an alien presence.

Canderous brought the speeder to a rough halt in front of the Ebon Hawk's docking bay.

"Canderous, you're not making sense at all.  You're confused," I said calmly, even though through the Force I felt no confusion, only a very clear, single-minded sense of purpose concerning me.

He pulled me out of the speeder and reached for an overstuffed pack.  I recognized the labels of provisions and realized with horror that he planned to steal the Ebon Hawk.  "Canderous," I said, sharply this time.  My bare feet thudded painfully on the ground as he pulled me towards the gangplank.  I dug in my heels, knowing I could not match him in strength, but hoping at least to put pause into his reckless actions.

He turned to look at me for the first time since his unsettling declaration in the bath house.  "I'm trying to do this right, Bastila."

"Do _what _right?" I said, frustrated and foot-sore.  My clean feet were now filthy with mud and rocks from the crumbled plascrete dug into the soles.

He looked down at my feet.  With an exasperated sigh, he picked me up again and carried me on board.  "Canderous," I said with a calm I didn't feel, "You don't have to do this.  Think about what you're doing."  I put the persuasion of the Force behind my words.

He set me down on the cold deck plates, and dropped the pack beside me.  Then he smiled.  "I have thought about it.  And don't try using the Force on me over it.  It won't work.  There are no doubts in my mind for you to exploit, Princess."

The landing ramp snapped closed with an air of finality.  "But you can't just steal the Ebon Hawk," I protested.  "Where are we going?  We can't fly very far with just the two of us." I heard a whistle from down the hall leading to Navigation.  "And T3."  _Unbelievable_, I thought.

I followed Canderous into the cockpit.  He must have spent some time planning this, for the pre-flight checklist was already completed.  "You're mad," I said, belaboring the obvious.  "Did something bite you in the jungle?  An insect?  A plant with poison thorns?"

He laughed.  "You are a stubborn and obtuse woman when you want to be, Bastila Shan.  We will make strong-willed children together."

I blinked.  "_What_?" I shrieked.  My hands stilled over the navigation controls.

He punched the codes for launch sequence and threw me a look.  "Fly this thing."

"I will not," I said sternly.

"Then we crash and die a glorious death in a noble pursuit."

I stared at him.  I believed he was mad enough to do it.  I returned to the nav controls.  "What insane destination shall I enter, you illegitimate son of a Hutt?"

"I love it when you talk dirty."  His words made me grind my back teeth together.  At least Revan wasn't around to egg him on in his lecherous tendencies.  "Yavin 13," he said.  "In three days' time, your clan will try to win you back from me."

I forced my jaw to unclench.  We broke from the planet's gravity and swung around the gas giant.  Yavin 13 was a distant speck on the viewscreen.  "Please clarify," I said, "the exact time in which you determined that any sort of discussion on anything as remotely long-term as marriage arose between us?"  Perhaps there was yet hope.  This was all a bizarre and disturbing misunderstanding.

He busied himself with piloting for a few moments as we maneuvered away from the gas-giant's gravitational fluctuations, then hollered for T3.  The little droid wheeled into the cockpit.  "Fly this thing for awhile," he said to the droid. 

T3 plugged into the computer interface and began to whir contentedly.  The ship's movements smoothed and I was greatly relieved.  The alcohol from the sweet cordial in the bath had traveled to my head, and I was overly sensitive to every little course correction.

I stood and picked my barefoot way back down the corridor towards the common area.  Canderous followed and set to unpacking the overstuffed equipment bag he'd brought with us on board.

"Mandalorians do not 'discuss' these matters.  We act." Canderous answered my question.  "I have three days to convince you I'll make a worthy husband."  His tone held a heavy seriousness that frightened me.

"You realize you have kidnapped me," I said.  "Taken me against my will."  

He stocked the galley shelves with fresh provisions and set the rest of the contents of the equipment pack--mostly ammunition--into a storage container.  I took a bottle of water from the refrigerator unit and drank deeply.  Confusion roiled through my insides, so thick that not even my connection to the Force showed me the way out of the mire.

"Of course I have.  That's how it's done among my people.  Normally, a bridal raid is conducted with at least three light cruisers and an escort of dogfighters--"

"A--bridal raid?" I said, my voice faint and somewhat hysterical.  So I had heard correctly in the bath house.  My fingers seemed to lose feeling around the cold container.  The very idea was ludicrous!  Aeons out of date, and barbaric, besides!  Jedi do not love, and we certainly do not marry.  Such states are not meant for us.  "But--why?"

He gave me one of those hot-eyed looks.  "You are more than a match for me in battle," he said.  "And in bed."

I blushed.  "I did not act as a Jedi should," I said, suddenly fascinated by the droplets of condensation on the outside of the water container.  I used him and abused myself.  My behavior was a source of shame, not something to be rewarded.  "I am an embarrassment to the code."

He put his hands over mine and took the water bottle from me.  He set it down on the narrow counter and plunged his hands into my hair again.  "To hell with your Jedi code," he said, and touched his lips to mine.

I held still, waiting for him to bear down on me, anticipating the pressure of his lips to force my own apart.  I had, after all, made it clear back on the Stella Arcos, that I expected him to be...Mandalorian in his ways.  But the advance did not come.  Instead, he tasted me, ran his tongue over my lower lip and coaxed me open to welcome him.

His hands settled heavily on my shoulders, heated through the thin fabric of the bathrobe, and as we kissed, he moved them down the edges of the soft fabric, just so the tips of his fingers brushed my bare skin beneath.  I shivered, whether from cold or from sensation I could not say.  Desire flared in me and I fought to suppress my emotions.  Yet the old modes of behavior failed me, left me incomplete and weak, susceptible to the pull of those emotions towards irrationality.  Instead, I released the feeling, allowed the desire to flow through me.  I wrapped my arms around him to pull him closer to me.

But he splayed his fingers around my waist and resisted my efforts to advance things.  Instead, he took his time, made me wait.  With each breath I took, more nerve endings came alive with sensation--the rough feel of his clothing against my skin, the chill of the air currents made by the recirculators, the hum of the ship's engines.  I made a soft sound of protest and he broke the kiss.  He shook his head slowly and took a deep, slow breath.  I felt the rise and fall of his chest against mine.  "This is not," he said roughly, "how I planned to court you."

I have lied to myself about many things, but never about the physical basis of my attraction to Canderous.  I had not approached him with the intention of a long-term arrangement, or with any girlish notions better suited to holovid dramas.  "Court me?" I repeated stupidly.  

He took my chin in one of his large, callused hands.  "Didn't you hear my declaration?"  His voice was a soft rumble, and the blood in my veins thrummed in time with it.

The intense words came back to me, and with them, the bone-melting desire to surrender to the promise in them.  _Impossible_, I thought immediately.  A Jedi cannot marry.  The oaths we take to the Order--the Order must come first.  The will of the Force must be obeyed, not simply the will of a single being, or a pair of them.  Never mind the fact that we were Republic and Mandalorian--the culture clash alone threatened to devastate entire sectors.  I had to put a stop to this right away.  Before his words finished the work they started and I abandoned the Order and the Jedi Code yet again.

I licked my lips nervously and the taste of him burned on my tongue.  I closed my eyes and attempted to summon calm, but the hot desert scent that I came to associate with him invaded me.  "Your declaration is madness," I said.  "Marriage...is out of the question."

When I opened them again, he still held my gaze with his own nickel-iron one.  "In three days, you will change your mind."

"That sounds like a threat," I said faintly.

"I told you when we first met on Taris.  Mandalorians don't threaten.  We promise."

* * *


	61. Encounters

Encounters

Mission

For having spent most of the day unconscious, Mission felt tired enough to sleep for a week.  Instead, she split off from Juhani with a wave and thought about waking Big Z up to go exploring again, this time to see if there was anyone in this whole estate who thought about normal things, like swoop racing, tinkering with droids, or playing Pazaak, instead of acting all crazy from being in love.  As it was, Jolee had been snagged by the Jedi Council.

She changed into her clothes and was about to put her hand on the comm panel of her room to call Big Z when her door chimed.  She brightened.  Maybe Z already had the same idea.  

But the door didn't open to a Wookiee.  It opened to a Devaronian--the last Devaronian she wanted to see.  Ever again.  "Miss Vao--" he began.

She slapped the door panel to close it again, but he stuck one foot in it and the thing refused to shut.  "Is there some part of 'no' you don't understand?" she asked smartly.

Borx'amatto smiled engagingly at her.  Or tried to.  Devaronians never inspired confidence in people, and this one more than most.  "Come now, Miss Vao, I'm not your enemy," he said, forcing his way into her room.  "I only want to talk."

She backed away until she felt the riser of the first step leading to her sleeping area hit the backs of her ankles.  "Stop right there," she said, wanting nothing more than for him to just get out of her room, and willing to do just about anything to make that happen.

He held out his hands.  "Can't I convince you to at least listen to what I have to say?"

He was in her room all the way now, and she had no weapon--she wasn't even wearing her clothes underneath the bathrobe!  "Wait outside," she said.  "You're trespassing in my room."

He smiled again.  This one held less reassurance.  "Security will find that the lock hasn't been forced.  You opened the door for me."

"I didn't know who you were," she protested.

"There's a viewscreen right there." He pointed to the lock panel.  Gah, she felt like a fool for not thinking to check!  She'd just been so sure it was Big Z that she didn't think at all.

"Well I'm not listening to a word you have to say in my bathrobe," she said.

"I see you've discovered the governor's bath house?  Delightful place, isn't it?" He said conversationally.  

_Eww, eww, eww_, she thought.  Devaronians.  Bathwater.  _Ugh_.  _Bet that sight would top Dustil's old Academy master_--she jerked her mind away from that thought.  She wouldn't be sharing any more moments of commisseration with _him_.  "I understand there was a bit of excitement there earlier, wasn't there?" he said.

"Excitement?" she echoed him in disbelief.  "Bastila'd have a different--" she drew herself up short.  She almost forgot who she was talking to.  "Well, it's none of _your _business," she said sharply.

He folded his arms and dipped his horns towards her.  "Never let it be said that I'm less than a gentleman.  I shall wait right here while you get dressed, and then we can go for a short walk."

Seeing he wasn't going to be moved, she dashed up the stairs and wasted little time getting into her clothes.  She also grabbed her commlink, in case he got fresh, and her hold-out blaster, in case the commlink didn't work.  Not that the hold-out had done her any good in the jungle, but at least she didn't think the Devaronian had a keen sense of humor and nice eyes.

She shrugged on her vest and went back down the short flight of stairs.  "Fine, let's go," she said, and all but pushed him out of her room.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Get to the point, creep.  I'd like to tell you no again without taking half the night to do it."

He tutted.  "Miss Vao, I think you're being unreasonable.  The beings I represent are looking for individuals with the exact kind of star quality you yourself possess."  They left her corridor and traveled down the main hallway back towards the large hall where the reception had been held.  Cleaning droids and a few humans lingered in the cavernous room, stripping the place of its centerpieces.  She relaxed a little, relieved to no longer be alone with the smarmy talent scout.

"You got any original lines?" she asked.  "Because flattery will get you nowhere."

"Your charisma, your youth, your inner light--Sluuka would very quickly make you the crown jewel in all his enterprises."  

In spite of herself, Mission paused.  "Did you say Sluuka?  As in 'Sluuka the Hutt?'  As in the Vod Krakenslayer vids?"  The entire Lower City used to gather in Javyar's cantina to watch whatever episodes of Vod Krakenslayer they could get their hands on.  In fact, until the Sith came around, even the Beks and Vulkars would stop fighting long enough to cheer as Vod battled against the Krakens.  Davik Kang himself quite often arranged for the holocylinders of new episodes to find their way down from above.

He nodded.  "The very same.  He's got a new venture--an epic series that features a female this time.  A female Twi'lek."

Her eyes grew round.  His voice grew persuasive.  "A female Twi'lek Jedi who's a hero to her people.  She travels the galaxy in her quest to free them from slavery.  And I know that as soon as Sluuka gets a look at you, you'll be that heroine."  A cluster of cleaning droids advanced towards them and she went forward to meet them.  They might lack anything beyond rudimentary AI, but at least they gave her the illusion of company, which she needed because his words were sort of turning her head.

She couldn't help but think.  Her, a holovid star.  She'd be famous.  She'd be rich, too.  But--no!  The idea was ridiculous.  She didn't want money, and she was already too famous to ever run another shell game, or shark at Pazaak.  Besides, she'd been part of the crew that saved the galaxy.  She'd done important work--stuff that meant something to a lot of people.  She'd saved people's lives alongside Revan.  

"Listen, pal," she said.  The cleaning droids began to whir around them, each one picking a sector of floor to sweep and polish.  Without much thought, she stretched a hand out to the panel of the one closest to her and danced her fingers over the controls.  "Sure I'm tempted by your offer--who wouldn't be?  But I want more out of life than a pile of credits and people asking for my autoprint.  Besides, I'm already a hero.  For real."  She finished with the first droid and reached out to the next one.

"Exactly," he said.  "You could bring an honesty to the part that would make it an instant hit."

She snorted, starting on the third droid.  "And put more credits in your pocket and Sluuka's, I'm sure.  No thanks," she said again.  "Find somebody else to be your star."  She keyed the execute command of the fourth droid and stepped aside.

"I'm authorized to sweeten the deal for you," he said coaxingly.

"Get vaped!" she said back.  She stalked towards the kitchens, leaving him standing while the squad of cleaning droid whirred circles around him as it polished the floor.

She found her way to the kitchens by sound.  The clink of flatware and the sound of droid chefs led her down a corridor that seemed, if her mental map of the place was correct, rather close to Big Z's room.  Lucky him.

She had just emerged from the stores with a dish of something that looked not only edible, but tasty as well, the smell of spicy Corellian food teasing her, when she sensed she was not alone.

"Miss Vao, is it not?" A male voice speaking her own mother tongue had her freezing in her tracks.

"I was just hungry," she said, turning and hunching over at the same time, and hoping her Twi'leki didn't sound as low-class to him as it did to her.  Back on Taris, Zaerdra tried to teach her to speak it properly in her spare moments, but those were few and far between.

A green Twi'lek, who looked not much older than herself, stood in the kitchen proper, just outside the door of the pantry she'd been raiding.  He smiled and his lekku swung gently, sending messages of reassurance.  "Relax," he said.  "I'm not the kitchen patrol," he said in Basic.

"Okay, then," she said.  "In that case, I think there's more Corellian in there."

He chuckled.  "Actually, I wasn't looking for food.  I followed you in here."

She stiffened.  "Why," she blurted out.

"Because I heard what you said to Borx'amatto out there."

"Look, if you're working for him--"

He held up both hands.  "No, no.  Nothing like that.  But I do have the same goal in mind of offering something to you."

"No such thing as a free lunch.  Not even this."  She held up her pilfered snack.  The morning's problems returned to her.  "Hey, if you're another backwards yokel who thinks I'm the newest thing to slither around a dance pole, you can take a flying--"

"Whoa, easy.  This might have been a bad idea.  If you're so eager to jump to conclusions you'll never get the whole story.  And that's what we go for--the whole story."

She narrowed her eyes, but held her tongue from the immediate retort that jumped to her lips.  Instead, she really looked at him.  The way he stood, stiffly, slightly on guard reminded her of Carth--or no, not Carth.  He reminded her of Dustil.  That made her instantly not trust him just for that.  But she at least thought about asking an intelligent question.  "You're not with the press, are you?"

He smiled again.  "Just the opposite," he said.  "We normally react very badly to the press becoming aware of our activities."

She raised an eyebrow.  "Yeah, I guess the bugs hate it when you turn over a rock and shine a light on them."

"Hm," he said, leaning against the wall.  "The Admiral said you were smart.  I wonder if he was mistaken."

She narrowed her eyes.  So he was military.  The posture was a dead giveaway.  "I'm smart enough not to walk into that one, pal," she said sharply.

He raised an eyebrow.  "The Admiral didn't say you were difficult.  Now I know a little more than he does."

She sighed.  He obviously wanted his chance to make her some sort of offer she couldn't refuse, and if it would get her some peace, she might as well oblige him.  "What did I say to that horn-head back there that got you so interested in me?"

"You wanted to make a difference," he said.  His head-tails unwound from his shoulders and drifted down to wave against his back.  She noticed they were scarred in an even pattern near the ends and flinched involuntarily.  Whatever had given him those scars had to have hurt bad.  "It's a noble goal."

Her own head-tails folded around her shoulders.  "So you came all the way back here to congratulate me on my philanthropic tendencies?"  She was particularly proud of that statement.  After her use of words like "philanthropic tendencies," he'd have to admit the Admiral--whoever he was--was right about her.

"No," he said.  "I came here to give you that chance."

"Really?  Well I meant I wanted to make a difference bigger than adding credits to some two-bit crimelord's hoard, so whatever you're selling, I ain't buying it."

"The Admiral would be rather insulted to hear himself referred to as a two-bit crimelord.  I'd say he merits at least four bits on the crimelord scale."

Against her will, she smiled.  "All right, you got my attention enough to walk me back to my room."

She left the kitchens, and left it up to him to follow her down the hall.

As they walked, he spoke.  "The kind of opportunities I have for you aren't for a gloryhound.  Don't expect credit for the work you do.  You work behind the scenes with us."

"Gee, you mean I'd miss out on having greaseballs like Borx hounding my every move?"  She turned down the hallway where her room was located.

He smiled.  "Actually, you'd be hounding theirs.  There's room for a smart girl like you in Intelligence."

Intelligence, she thought, then made the connection.  Oh!  _Republic _Intelligence.  

She stared, unseeing, at the control pad on her door.  The best times she'd had during their search for the Star Forge had been when Noura took her aside, held her hand, and said, _"Mission, go put on that sneakbox of yours and dig us up some secrets."_  Noura had her own stealth generator, but she confided that Mission had a better talent for finding trouble, which was a compliment of the highest order, considering the trouble Noura ended up in back in her former life.__

The chance to use that talent of hers for more than scamming rubes or swindling marks--

"I might be interested.  But--you never gave me your name," she said, a little suspicious.

"You can call me Jev Secura."  She noticed he didn't say that was his name.  "And I shouldn't need to tell you to keep this to yourself.  If we get wind you've been bragging--and we will get wind, trust me--then the offer is withdrawn.  Think about it.  But don't think too long.  The galaxy moves swiftly.  You'll be contacted again soon."

* * *


	62. Shockwave

Shockwave

Revan

I admit it.  I was jealous.  Green as a drunk Rodian with envy.  Why hadn't _my _boyfriend developed a mad passionate scheme to kidnap _me _to a love-nest where we could be alone for three days?  Didn't I inspire acts of impassioned insanity?

Mission and Juhani peeled off at their corridor.  The Cathar woman looked directly at me before turning.  "Remember the Jedi Code, Noura," she said.  "Do not be so foolish as to mistake your will for the will of the Force."

She was right, of course.  I nodded and Carth and I continued down the main hallway.

Underneath the jealousy, which was superficial at best--the idea that Canderous would be the one with the romantic streak the size of the Hydian way just tickled me--I had a very real worry over how Bastila would take this.  Our ordeal in the jungle had thrust her into a position she wasn't ready for, and while she'd kept it together, I suspected that she, like the rest of us, was due for a major case of delayed crisis shock.

As I prepared to go down the hall to the wing where my room was, Carth let his hand slide down my arm, but tightened his grip on my wrist.  "Noura," he said quietly.  "I know you're mad, but this is his way.  He's trying to make things right between them.  I'd do the same thing in a minute for you.  If I was a Mandalorian."

My shoulders sagged and I felt like the back end of a rancor.  "I'm acting like a brat, aren't I?"

He pinched his forefinger and thumb together.  "Just a little."

I stepped closer to him and he put his arms around me.  "I'm worried about her.  About them.  About us."  In all the excitement surrounding the jungle, and then the reception, and the baths, I'd allowed myself to forget that our futures remained undecided.  And I hadn't even gotten to tell anyone about my decision to leave the Order.  I hugged Carth tighter as the loss gripped me.

"Hey," he said, surprise and concern in his voice.  He stroked my shoulders.  "It's okay.  Canderous knows what he's doing."

I shook my head, but stepped away from him when the urge to cry had passed.  He threaded his fingers through mine and I pressed my palm to his.  He brought our joined hands up to his lips and kissed my knuckles one by one.  I made up my mind then, that I was not going to spend the night alone.  I'd just nip back to my room for a quick comm to the Council.

Just before I let go of his hand, I said, "All the same, don't be surprised if I pull an Ordo Maneuver and kidnap your ass to Zeltros."

His laughter followed me down the hall.  I rounded the corner to where my quarters were located, and was about to step forward when I felt a mental twitch.  I slowed my pace, my bare feet making no noise on the marblecrete flooring, and flattened myself against the wall.  Something wasn't right.  I felt it in the Force.  Bastila called them "disturbances in the Force," but I always described it as the Force having a sudden itch, and the Force was scratching like a ronto with sand-fleas right now.

I felt for life, but there was none, so I cautiously edged forward, around the corner.  The hallway was empty, but the wall sconces about halfway down were missing their glowrods, casting the area right around my door in shadow.  I edged down the hall, one hand on the lightsaber in my robe pocket.

I approached the pool of darkness and my feet touched something wet and sticky.  I skidded and lost my balance for the second time that night, landing on my hip this time, instead of my damaged hind end.  My hand slapped down hard on the floor, sending a jolt of pain all the way up to my shoulder.  

My heart leapt into my throat as I looked down.  A dark pool of something thick, sticky, and liquid spread out around me and I feared the worst as my eyes followed the trail into the shadows and under the door.

I crawled closer, and an acrid scent filled my nostrils.

Not blood, I realized, sagging with relief.

Paint.  Red paint.  Splattered on the door to my room.  No, not my room, I realized.  The one next to mine.  Bastila's room.

I flicked the thumbswitch on mylightsaber and the blades sprang to life.  The glow revealed that someone had jammed a vibroknife into the security pad.  Their violet aura turned the red on the door to black, but there was no mistaking the words slashed there in bold, angry strokes for the whole world to see. 

_Sith Whore_.

I jerked the knife out and dropped it on the ground.  I twisted the connectors and yanked a handful of wires out of the back of the box, and with a hiss, the doors unlatched.

Inside, the room was a disaster area.  Bastila's clothing had been shredded, including the borrowed Alderaanian gown she'd worn to the reception.  Her datapads had been piled onto the bed, where somebody had taken a blaster to them and melted them into slag.  The acrid odor of liquid crystal melt still hung in the air, along with fury so palpable it clogged my throat.

Whoever had done this had been so enraged, so full of fury that Bastila wasn't here that I felt my own fists clench in response.  The walls inside had been vandalized as well, the words "Sith Whore" painted around the room, the letters running together in some mad rush to proclaim themselves and make their mark on the viewer.  They crawled over the walls, living testament to hatred, and I felt sick.  

Bastila's fall to the Dark Side hadn't been common knowledge, and the Jedi kept it that way for this very reason.  

I made for the comm panel but stopped halfway.  It was the only thing in the room untouched, and I had the sense to wonder why.  Instead, I searched the mess for anything salvageable.  I found her duffel half-stuffed into the 'fresher unit, and discovered the vandals had missed a hidden pocket.  My fingers picked out the blocky form of a holocron--her father's holocron, and I cut it from the pocket.

Clutching the holocron and my lightsaber, I staggered from the room, slipping again in the paint.  It must have just been done, I realized, if the paint was still wet.

I went to my own room and unlocked the door.  Once there, I went straight to the comm panel and pressed the button to call security.  I turned away while I waited for a response and put the holocron and my saber in my robe pocket.

I should have suspected that someone who held such hatred for Bastila's fall wouldn't have warm and happy feelings for the former poster child for the Dark Side.

The explosion rang in my ears and sent a wave of heat crawling up my back, drying and blistering the paint stuck to me and forcing me facedown on the bed so hard that my teeth rattled in my head.  Without thinking, I reached out to the Force and wrapped it around me as the ringing stopped and was replaced by white silence and incredible pressure that crumbled the white to black.

* * *


	63. Courted

Courted

Bastila

When we landed, it was twilight on the Northern continent.  The landing ramp opened to a warm evening breeze and the deafening silence of nature.  My hope of pleading for assistance at the spaceport--or at least pleading for fresh clothing--died a whimpering death with the lack of a spaceport.  He told me that our lodgings were courtesy of the ambassador from Yavin 8--apparently, the adolescent Melodie hunted often for sport, and Canderous's reputation as a hero of the Star Forge merited him a favor from her.  The thought of Canderous chatting up a diplomat gave me fits.  I should have kept a closer watch on him at the reception.  With his size and attitude, it is easy to forget that he can be so much more than walking brute force.  A miscalculation I had made on so many levels. 

We landed on a flat, barren plain surrounded by high mesas.  A low cluster of buildings stood a short distance away.  I spotted no antennae or other indications of technology, and the buildings seemed to be made of local materials rather than duracrete.

I managed to locate a pair of Mission's shoes in the footlocker in the starboard crew quarters.  I counted myself grateful they weren't Revan's and two sizes too big for me.  I also found one of her short under-vests tangled in the blanket Canderous brought me.  It was too tight, but it was functional.  And the swoop bike jumpsuit Revan wore a lifetime ago on Taris.  The jumpsuit was Revan's size, and too short for me to wear all the way, but I made do with fastening it up to my waist and using the robe tie to keep the top of the garment from falling off my hips.  The whole effect made me resemble a spaceport tart, but as we were lacking a spaceport, my undignified state bore no witnesses.

I tried once more to talk some sense into him.  "Please, think about what you're doing."

He set the crates down on the porch outside the door and pulled out a keycard.  Housed behind a wooden panel was the security pad, cleverly disguised as a part of the--cabin, I suppose.  He swiped the keycard and the locks snapped open.  "I have," he said as he moved the crates inside the door.  His expression was implacable, typical Canderous.  Point him at a target, then get out of his way.  Only I was his target now.

I stood in the doorway, hesitant to walk through the portal and accept the situation for what it was.  I dropped the pack on the ground in front of me.

He picked up the pack and stowed it inside the doors.  The gas giant hanging low in the sky cast the landscape in hues of peach and rose, a welcome change, I confess, from the watery greenness of the jungle.  A wave of exhaustion swept over me and I closed my eyes, reaching out into the Force hesitantly.  My fears were confirmed--I sensed the dim and wild presences of wildlife, flora and fauna.  Tiny essences not nearly as abundant as those in the jungle.

But beside me, Canderous blazed.  The only times I sensed him so focused before had been when the energy bolts were flying fast and thick.  "I fail to understand you, Canderous," I said.

"I'm not a complex man," he said, and took my hand.  "My needs are simple--a challenging enemy to face, loyal clansmen at my back, and a strong woman at my side."

He still insisted I was strong.  I suppose one can consider my temper strong, even if my attempts to deny it are weak.  "I'm hunting for you," he said, bringing my thoughts back around to our present predicament.

"Hunting me?"

"Hunting _for _you," he corrected me.  "It's part of the bridal raid.  Normally, I'd conquer a small planet or capture a capital ship for you, but--"

I held up my free hand.  "Please, spare me the violence."

"The time of the clans has gone," he said, leaning against the doorframe next to me.  "There will be no more conquering of worlds for brides.  We're scattered.  Beaten."

The way he spoke, emotionless, matter-of-fact, did not fool me.  Not for the first time did I glimpse some of the unexpected depths in him.

I remembered the Leviathan, of hearing Saul Karath's mocking, triumphant voice telling us that the Jedi Enclave at Dantooine had been destroyed.  The loss of my home, the closest thing to family I had experienced, nearly devastated me with grief.  And yet I had learned that many of the Council survived, that the Enclave had reestablished itself on Yavin 4.  My "clan" had received a second chance.  It survived and regrouped.

Saul Karath stood alone on the bridge of the Leviathan, the bodies of his soldiers cooling on the deck around him.  Noura stepped out of Carth's blaster range with a cool, emotionless expression.  Carth strode forward with that same dead chill in his eyes and jammed both blasters into Saul's stomach.  The loss of the Dantooine enclave fresh in my mind--the loss of the Masters, my fellow Jedi...to say my protests lacked conviction would be a severe understatement.  My foolish attack on Lord Malak that led to my capture had been spurred on by vengeance in the name of the Enclave and all my fallen fellow Jedi.  It is little wonder that Malak turned me so quickly.  I had fallen prey to the Dark Side long before the manacles encircled my limbs.

Yet Canderous continued without his clan--even ironically pledged loyalty to the one who had scattered the clans across the galaxy like so much dust.  His entire culture was no more than historical holovids and bad memories for a lot of Republic citizens, and he held no grudge against those who defeated him.

The cabin boasted only a single bedroom, and I grew nervous at the realization that we were meant to share it.  Part of me wanted nothing to do with that--we'd never shared sleep in our relationship, and the truth was, I'd never shared sleep with anyone.  It seemed a far too intimate thing.

Instead, I avoided the issue by settling myself on the couch.  Canderous shot me a look, but pulled out the weapons from one of the supply bins he'd carried inside.  A vibrospear and a slugthrower.  I raised an eyebrow.  "Not taking your repeater?"

He shook his head.  "There's no honor in slaughtering animals."

"But slaughtering people is perfectly fine?" I challenged him.

"Spare me your Republic platitudes," he said.  "People are more vicious predators than any of the nonsentient species."

"Have you forgotten the Terentatek so easily?" I asked.  The monster we encountered on Kashyyyk still haunted me at times, with its implacable resistance to the Force and its massive strength.  One blow had nearly killed me.  I was grateful that I hadn't been with them on Korriban when they'd encountered three.

"That beast was indeed a worthy challenge."

His words triggered a memory, a dim one to be sure, and one I hadn't thought of in ages.  "You sound like my father used to."  Grief I had never allowed myself to feel crept into the sleepy corners of my mind.  After years of believing my mother to be the one to have dragged my father around the galaxy, her words and his holocron allowed memories I had suppressed to return to me.  _"Look, pet," _he said to me once, _"Here is the skull plate of an old bull Hulak Wraid.  A noble old fellow, he was, cursing me to the moons and back with his bellows.  Led me on a merry chase, but I gave him an end worth talking about."  _If dim memories can be trusted, my father also hunted animals with weapons appropriate to their size and cunning.  "What manner of beast do you plan to hunt for me?" I asked, curious in spite of myself.

"Ikusai wolves," he said.  "Pack hunters.  Prey on large herdbeasts and unlucky natives.  At the end of our seclusion, we can turn the carcasses in for bounty."

"Seclusion," I said.  "That's what this is, then?"

He nodded, taking a spanner to the energy cell on the vibrospear.  The quiet hum became even quieter, sinking below the normal range of sonics.  "To give you time to get used to the idea of being my wife."

As if the deal had already been done.  Of all the arrogant-- "That," I said frostily, "is going to take a lot longer than three days!"  Did he even have an _idea _of the insurmountable obstacles that lay in our way?  _His _way, I amended mentally.

"It is the Mandalorian way," he said simply.  Implacably.  As immovable as ever.  When I initiated our liaisons, I had wanted him to be the Mandalorian, to treat me with the harshness merited by my weakness.  Why hadn't I foreseen something like this?

Because I had disconnected myself from the Force that guided me always.  _Wrong answer_, a small voice in the depth of my soul mocked me.  _You cannot lay the blame for your own stubborn blindness at the feet of the Force.  You saw only what you wished to see.  Have you forgotten how well you lie to yourself?  You wanted him to be Mandalorian, and you received exactly what you wanted_.

I rose from the couch, taking the datapad and datacards I'd discovered in one of the packs.  "You've forgotten one thing, Canderous," I said, stalking into the bedroom, more furious at myself than at either him or the situation.  I turned to find him wearing a wide, mercenary grin.  It only served to fuel my pique.  Not even the Jedi Code could help me now.  "I'm _not _Mandalorian!" I said, unsure of whether I said it to him or to myself, and slammed the door.

* * *


	64. Compromised

Compromised

Carth

I guess the Force was listening when I swore I'd protect Revan on the Ebon Hawk.  It held me to my promise.

I was still thinking about her promise to kidnap me to Zeltros--I'd be damned if I'd let any of those Zeltron pretty boys get anywhere near her, but the thought of a vacation on a pleasure planet had merit--when she rounded the corner.  I stayed where I was, thinking about the future.

I had plans to enlist Jolee's help.  Sure, the old codger might piss and moan about young kids and hot heads and hot blood, but I didn't miss the softening around his eyes when he looked at us together.  And I hadn't minded at all when she came to me for comfort in the speeder bay.  

The galaxy wanted Noura--that's the way of heroes.  The galaxy wanted to love and adore her and use her until she was nothing but an exhausted shell.  That's the way of galaxies.  To take when you give until you're all used up or you finally wise up and figure out when and how to stop.  My promise to protect her extended to protecting her from the good guys as well, I saw that now.  The spectre of Darth Revan still lingered in the galaxy, and Noura would need protecting.

I still didn't trust the Council, either.  Revan might have thought she won her freedom from them, but I didn't think they'd just let her go without a fight.  Force only knew how they would take the news about Bastila.  I knew how manipulative they could be.  I can't cloud a mind with a wave of my hand, or inspire my allies and cause my enemies despair with a concentrated thought.  But I'd like to think my good looks and charm might have at least a little effect on at least one person of close, personal acquaintance, and patience be damned, I wanted to show her what waited for her outside the walls of the Enclave, away from the prying eyes of Republic politicians and Jedi Masters.

So when the explosion came, I was already halfway down the hall, calling out her name.

Fire belched out of one wall, and she was facedown in a pool of blood.  Terror, despair, anguish, rage--all flashed through me at once, but the thought that beat a steady tattoo in my head I repeated aloud, over and over again.  "Stay with me, stay with me, _staywithmestaywithmestaywithme!_"

The body on the bed heaved and I sprinted to her.  I flipped her over, the sticky stuff that coated her back getting all over me, too. 

She blinked.

"Noura," I said, cradling her head and shoulders in my arms.  She looked up at me with those smoky quartz eyes and I sagged in relief.  "Noura?"  I had to call her name twice more before she waved her hand weakly.

"I'm okay," she said loudly, and stuck a finger in her ear.  "I'm a little deaf," she shouted.  She shook her head a few times to clear it.  "A bomb," she said in a normal tone of voice.  "In the comm unit."

My guts clenched.  "Who--why?"  My hands traveled over her body, searching for wounds.  I realized it wasn't blood that covered her, but paint.

She reached up and cupped my cheek.  "Saved me again, Flyboy.  I guess we're even now.  Only one of these days, you're gonna have to feel me up for reasons other than checking for broken bones, huh?"

I held her hand against my cheek and nodded, unable to say anything for a long moment.  Always ready with a punchline, she was, even when the joke was on her.  The smoke started to choke and I wondered why the room's sensors hadn't gone off already.

Of course.  The same reason why a bomb had been able to be planted in the comm panel.  The governor's estate was secluded, but not secure, and our reputations had preceded us--the governor made sure of that with his little announcement back at the Republic garrison.

"I must've made--a real--impression at--the party," she said, coughing.

I gathered her in my arms.  "Come on, beautiful," I said, my heart hammering in my chest from fear and relief and shortness of breath.  She still found the strength to be cheeky.   "Let's get out of here."

She grabbed my jacket.  "Bastila--too," she said between coughs and with streaming eyes.

My own throat was starting to burn.  And she wasn't making sense.  "Bastila's safe," I said.  "She's with Canderous, remember?"  Normally, "safe" and "Canderous" weren't terms I'd use together, but I'd come to trust the big Mandalorian where the crew of the Ebon Hawk was concerned.

Revan shook her head.  "Her--room."

I couldn't afford to stop and listen to whatever she was trying to say.  I rose to my feet, lungs tight, and staggered out of the room with her in my arms.

Out in the hallway, klaxons were already going off and I heard the distant servo-whir of emergency service droids.  I leaned against the wall and Revan struggled out of my arms to wobble on her own two feet.  She took two deep breaths.

"Steady," I said, keeping a firm hold on her.  Just once, I'd like to go twelve hours without fearing for her life.

She shook her head as a fit of coughing overtook her.  I held her shoulders--it was all I could do.

"Bastila's room," she said, when she caught her breath again.  "It was vandalized.  I'm not the only target."

I finally noticed the hallway floor.  Two sets of footprints were picked out clearly, one booted--mine, and one barefoot--hers.  I followed them to their source and saw Bastila's door.  "This is an inside job," I said.  I reached for my personal commlink, my mind going back to another time I'd outsmarted the enemy by using a personal commlink.  "Mission?"

To my relief, the blue Twi'lek's voice came through strong and clear.  "What the heck is going on already?  Why can't I sleep?"

"Don't use the room's comm unit," I said.  "This place isn't safe."

"Huh?  What are you on about?"

Noura took the commlink from me.  "My room blew up," she said.  "And somebody trashed Bastila's.  Force only knows what they did to everyone else's.  Get your gear and let's blow this joint."

"Noura," Mission's voice pitched high.  "You--you're all right, though?  That was your room?"

"My ears are ringing and I breathed too much smoke, but I'm fine."

I took the commlink back.  "Contact Zaalbar and HK, we'll fetch Juhani--use your personal commlink.  We're getting out of here."

"Where to?" Mission asked.

"The only safe place left," I said, a bitter taste in the back of my throat that had nothing to do with the smoke.  "The Jedi enclave."  

* * *


	65. Joyride

Joyride

Mission

Somebody wanted to blow up Noura.  Mission really thought that the Star Forge had erased the whole Darth Revan thing.  Stars knew she considered Revan's slate clean--as clean as her mind-wiped memory bank.  She leaned into a nearby speeder and did something in the shadows.  The speeder hummed to life.  "I'd say this is the perfect time for a quick and subtle vacation of the premises."

Juhani tsked.  "Mission--"

"She's right," Carth said as he and Revan entered the speeder bay.  Mission gasped at the sight of Noura.  The bathrobe she'd worn in the bathhouse hung off her in shreds, and she was covered in something thick and red.  She forgot the speeder and ran to Noura.  The older woman met her eyes and smiled reassuringly, if a little shakily.  Mission had to be content with patting her shoulders.

Noura took her hands and squeezed.  "I'm fine.  It's paint.  I managed to call on the Force in time to protect me from the worst of the damage."

Mission's stomachs quivered and she fought back the sudden urge to cry.  Instead, she sniffed.  "Smells like that evertex stuff they use to paint the outsides of starships.  Stuff'll never come out of your clothes."  Though her words were joking, her tone was too shaky for it to generate any real laughs.

Juhani patted her shoulder, and sized up Noura with her own feline gaze.  "I am relieved you recovered so quickly.  But we do not need to turn to thievery."

Carth stepped in.  "That wasn't a bouquet of flowers that went off in Noura's room.  Somebody here wants her dead, and maybe us, too.  And I don't know enough to want to hang around and guess who it is."

"And if they know she's Revan, too, the list is going to be longer than a Hutt's memory about his first credit.  And not anywhere remotely as fond."  Mission felt obligated to point out.  How could Juhani be worrying about something as petty as borrowing a speeder at a time like this?  Then Mission remembered that Juhani was a Jedi, and they did worry about stuff like that.  Steal a speeder for a good cause, and end up justifying blowing up a planet a week down the road.  Man, she was glad she wasn't a Jedi.  She wondered how Republic Intelligence felt about the borrowing of an occasional speeder or two.

HK-47 emerged from the shadows.  "Statement: I am delighted to see you up and about, Master.  May we locate some meatbags to blast now?"

"Hold that thought and I'll see what I can do," Revan said.  To the rest of them, she said, "The fun's not over yet.  I guess someone found out about Bastila's fall to the Dark Side."  

Mission was shocked at the vandalism, and how much Noura was affected by it.  Sure, Bastila had her moments, and more than once, the woman's belongings aboard the Ebon Hawk had included a few more gizka than attrition necessarily warranted, courtesy of Mission herself, but a hate-filled act like that--"That's nobody's business but hers, isn't it?" Mission asked.  "And ours.  It's a family thing."

Revan smiled faintly.  "You're right, but some people won't feel that way."

"The Jedi police our own," Juhani said, "And for the Republic, that is officially enough.  However, there are always individuals for whom the law is not enough."

Revan nodded.  "Did anybody else notice the preoccupation with the rumors about Revan's return?"

"But none of that matters now," she said.  "You don't remember your past, and you've done your penance.  Jeez, have people forgotten about the Star Forge already?"

[For some, nothing short of blood will be enough.] Zaalbar warbled, with a look in Revan's direction.  

Mission looked at the ground.  Force knew, she'd heard Revan demand some blood since Taris.  Revan had wanted Saul Karath's blood for Carth, Chuundar's blood on Big Z's behalf, Xor's blood for Juhani, and Griff's money, but only because that would be worth more to him than his blood.  And she really couldn't fault Revan for it--it would be a long time before she stopped wanting Dustil's blood herself.  "This has to do with one of our own," she said.  Why did people have to be so damn nosy, anyway?

Revan sighed.  "Much as I'd like to solve this problem on our own, I'm smart enough to admit that I wouldn't mind the help of the Jedi Council on this one.  This is going to affect them as well as us.  It's only right that they know."

Juhani awarded her with one of her feline smiles.  "They would be so proud to hear you speak thusly," she said.  

Revan gave a snort.  "They wouldn't be so proud to hear me say that it's you guys, and the attachments I have to you, that make me think this way.  But my fights with the Council will have to wait.  We have to work together.  They have resources we don't."

"Yeah," Mission said.  "They can keep secrets, unlike the governor, here."  Her eyes, like Carth's, kept going to the dome that had been Revan's room.  The force of the blast had shredded the dome and forced the shards outward so that it resembled some twisted duracrete and transparisteel flower.  She shivered at the thought of her own room being rigged the same way.  She could almost thank Borx'amatto for interrupting her, else she might be nothing more than blue chunks on the duracrete herself.  To think that Revan had survived that--But she was Noura Den Hades, and she had more lives than a Corellian sand panther.  Somehow, Mission always knew that Noura couldn't help but come out on top eventually, and that she'd make sure the rest of them did, too.

Carth's eyes met hers.  He had that same haunted look.  "Let's get out of here," he said.

"Go ahead," Revan said, motioning to her.  "You hotwired it, you can drive it."

"All right!"  She grinned and hopped into the driver's seat.

She fiddled around on the comm channels to see if anything showed up about the bomb.  The normal comm chatter mixed with bursts of internal-to-the-governor's-place security flurries.  She guided the speeder out of the speeder bay and through the back gate to the main settlement, concentrating on driving casually.  The comm remained silent on anything remotely interesting, probably because the press was monitoring.  She switched to sector news.

"--Bastila Shan, apparently removed forcibly from the estate of the governor of Yavin 4.  It is uncertain at this time if a ransom will be demanded, or what, if any, cause the kidnapper or kidnappers have declared, only that the culprit was a Mandalorian.  Sources speculate that Shan's kidnapping may have something to do with the persistent rumors about the sightings of Darth Revan at the Star Forge.  Correspondent Borx'amatto is live, on the scene, with the report--"

She swore.  "That slimy Hutt-turd!"  If she hadn't slipped up and mentioned Bastila's name--damn!  .

"Who and what?" Noura said.

"He's a Devaronian that's been pestering me ever since we got to Yavin.  He thinks I want to be a holovid star and I keep telling him no.  He even chased me down at the party.  Canderous had to help me escape through a kitchen droid-flap.  Just won't take no for an answer."  She suddenly remembered seeing him around the Taris Undercity before the Sith put the quarantine on the planet.  He'd been in the company of Davik Kang's goons.  Not Canderous--goon status notwithstanding, he was muscle--but the Tarisian nobles Davik kept in his pocket were goons of a different stripe.  Rakghouls walking around in fine tunics, greasing the lanes for Davik to get away with just about anything he wanted.  

_If I were in Republic Intelligence_, she thought, _maybe I could get the drop on scum like Davik and Borx_.  Jev had said that his people didn't like it when the press stuck their noses into things.  Whatever weirdness Canderous and Bastila were into, they were her friends, and weirdness aside, the look on Canderous's face in the bathhouse was too serious, too--she sighed--tortured.  He looked like he was having a hard enough time dealing with his plan without adding the complication of the press to it.  Besides, Canderous wasn't subtle enough to do an end-run around the press.  He kicked down half-open doors on principle.  And kidnapped women.  Why did she find that romantic instead of horrifying?  Stars knew there was enough kidnap in the galaxy that ended up with the woman in a slave collar rather than a wedding dress.

Maybe it had something to do with the holonovels Lena used to read.  At the time, she'd scorned them, thinking the overly-kissy title holos were just stuff Lena read to improve her own man-grabbing skills.  Maybe a few days ago, she'd have still thought that.

Now, things were different.  Lena's kissy-novels didn't seem like such fluff anymore, now that she herself had experienced the devastation that could happen due to a single kiss.

"Great.  This is all we need.  Bounty hunters from here to Coruscant are going to be hunting for her.  How did this Devaronian find out?" Noura asked.  The edge to her voice, in Mission's private thoughts, must have been close to the one she'd used as Darth Revan.  

She stiffened.  "I--uh--"

"What?"  Yep.  Definitely Darth Noura.  Mission sunk lower in the seat.  Looked like she'd have to take that assignment with Intelligence now, if only to change her name and dye her head-tails so Noura wouldn't pop them off.

To her surprise, Carth interjected.  "There _were _witnesses.  Those Twi'leks in the bathhouse--"

"--Probably went home a couple hundred credits richer for some creative storytelling," Mission finished for him, half-relieved.  They had acted so silly--running around and shrieking like tachs who'd eaten too much tarka-fruit.  Of course, they didn't know Canderous.  Not that he was harmless--they just didn't know that if Canderous wanted them knocked off, he'd have done so before they even had the chance to scream.  Of course, she thought guiltily, if it weren't for her slip of the tongue, he wouldn't have suspected the bath house incident had anything to do with them.

Noura slumped against Carth.  "If every Mandalorian causes this much trouble when he's in love, it's a wonder they aren't all extinct."

"You gotta admit," she said, "He doesn't do things in half-measure."  Since her conversation with Bastila earlier, she'd felt a little warmer towards the Jedi woman.  Bastila no longer felt quite as...creepy, like the Dark Side in her wasn't leaking out the seams.

And in her own way, she had tried to help Mission with her Dustil problem.  He's not _my_ problem, she told herself.  _He's not my anything_.  He tried to betray her friends--his own father among them!  And he kissed her and sent her to some awful place where she couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop all the doubts she ever had in the darkest corners of her mind from rising up to overwhelm her, and he made that place taste like him.

Even now, so much later, after things had been explained, bruises had been healed, and force-fields mended, all she had to do was close her eyes and she could remember being there, stuffed in that storage drum in the dark, freezing tramp freighter cargo hold she'd come to Taris in, of being afraid someone would open the container and find her there, and of being terrified that someone wouldn't, and she'd fade away into nothing but cold and dark.  Where the prison became the safe place, and all she could hear was her own heartbeat, and that of the one who held her there.

"Mission, look out!" Carth's voice cut through her drowning thoughts and she focused on the viewscreen just in time to swerve the speeder away from oncoming traffic and turn into the Jedi Enclave.

"Sorry," she muttered.  Noura shot her a look, but said nothing.  She killed the power to the speeder and leaned back for a moment while Noura and Carth got out of the front seat, and Big Z and Juhani wrestled HK out of the back.

"Mission," Noura put a hand on her shoulder.  "When this is all over, we'll talk.  For a long time.  About anything and everything."

She climbed out of the speeder and put on her careless face.  "Sure thing," she said, with a brightness she didn't feel.  Just like Revan to forget that someone tried to kill her just to look after someone else's temporary mental funk.

She followed the rest of the group to the doors.  Unsurprisingly, they slid open even before anybody got close enough to trigger the sensors.  "The Masters await you," someone said.  Mission barely restrained a snort.  The Jedi did love their mysterious dramatics, didn't they?

It was only when she approached the robed figure that waited to escort them that she realized who it was and a vicious flash of fury rippled all the way to the ends of her head-tails.

She held herself stiff and still, using everything she could think of to maintain an icy mask.  But as soon as his eyes flicked to her, the mask broke and her fury burst free.  "I thought I told you never to come near me again," she hissed.

His mouth tightened.  "You're the one in my enclave right now," he said.

She couldn't shake the memory of the Sith artifacts she'd found in his duffel bag back aboard the Ebon Hawk, and wondered how the Jedi Masters could be so wise and yet stupid enough to invite the viper kinrath pup into their sleeping quarters.  "It wouldn't be your enclave if it weren't for that Master in your head," she whispered back.  

His nostrils flared and his mouth disappeared into a tight line before his features rearranged themselves into a thin mask of serenity.  "You're entitled to your opinion," he said tonelessly.  Then he turned away from her to Revan.  "Is there something that requires our assistance at this hour?"

Mission relaxed a little when Revan replied.  "Cut that sycophantic tone, Dustil.  It doesn't suit you."

"Just trying to show proper respect to my elders."  Dustil pulled a comical face.  Mission tried hard not to laugh.  _I hate him, remember?_

"Been talking to Jolee, have you?" Carth said.

A real smile crossed Dustil's face.  "As a matter of fact, we spent much of the night in conference with the Masters."

"Hob-nobbing with the bigwigs already?" Revan retorted.  Mission snorted.  Were the Masters stupid, or too arrogant about their own power to trust him with anything more important than opening the front door?

She tapped one foot rapidly on the ground.  "Well, I'm sure we're all really proud of how Dustil's oozed his way to the top in such a short time, but have you guys all forgotten why we're here?"

Juhani shot her a reproachful look.  "Mission, your hostility poisons your own self far more potently than it does others."

She folded her arms, and her head-tails followed suit.  "Maybe I'm just more aware that there's somebody very close by who just tried to kill two of our party."

Noura frowned.  "The only bomb that went off was in my room."

She rolled her eyes.  For the savior of the galaxy and the former Sith Lord, Revan could be thick sometimes!  "Duh.  Anyone with half a brain could figure that you weren't going to spend the night alone."  She glanced towards Carth and felt like laughing at the red flush creeping up his neck.  You'd think that with the way Noura'd been needling him ever since Taris that he'd have built up an immunity by now, but maybe it was Dustil's presence.  Though the stars knew he was no innocent, either.

Against her will, her brain summoned the memory of their commisseration aboard the Ebon Hawk.  _Selena and I had gone to the hot springs for--_

_The Selkath consider massage an art form--_

_You're very beautiful--_

And that kiss.  The feel of his warm lips on hers, his body close enough for her to feel the heat that was uniquely his, and separate from the humidity of the jungle.  

And whatever that Sith-spawned spell he put on her.

"So that was the rumble we heard?  A bomb?"  Dustil in the here and now pulled her out of her memory loop.

"Yes, a bomb," she said.  "Apparently _somebody _has been fueling the rumors about Darth Revan's still being alive.  I guess somebody put two and two together about Noura."

"We don't know that for sure," Carth said quietly.  "There could have been any number of reasons for a bomb to have been planted in that room."

"Thanks for that," Revan said.  "I'm so glad to know that there are a variety of reasons for people to want to kill me."

Carth sighed.  "You know what I mean.  We can't assume motive without having more facts.  We risk missing some clues that may be more important than we first thought.  The most obvious reason may not be the correct one."

Mission realized that Carth had a point.  She was suddenly glad that she was on his side, and that he'd chose soldiering as a career instead of law enforcement.  He would have made a very hard cop to run away from.

Noura nodded.  "Well, at least we know Canderous didn't set off that bomb as a diversion."

Part of her wanted to grab Dustil's sleeve, run to a corner, and tell him about what happened in between giggles, and she had to fight that part almost physically.  It was unfair how he could be such a kindred spirit, yet such a dangerous enemy.

"Why would Canderous plant a bomb in Noura's room?" Dustil asked.  "She's technically the leader of his people."

"I am?" Noura said.

Dustil nodded.  "Master Nayal spent a lot of time in the Outer Rim," he explained.  "The title of Mandalore isn't hereditary.  It's awarded in trial by combat.  As the one who slew Mandalore, Revan became the de facto new Mandalore.  Right then and there, she could have taken control of the clans and led the Mandalorians wherever she wanted them to go."

Noura blinked.  "Well.  That explains why he stuck around, I guess."

"Partly," Mission retorted, remembering what she'd walked in on.

"But it doesn't explain why he'd want to plant a bomb," Dustil said.

"Diversion," Noura said.  "He probably guessed that I had no intentions of sleeping in my own room tonight," she said, with a meaningful glance at Carth.

"You'd have crossed each other in the hallway, then, I expect," Dustil muttered.  Mission had to control her own snort of laughter.  Dammit, why did he have to be so good at riding her brainwave?  "Why did he need a diversion?"

"It wasn't Canderous," Carth said firmly, with a meaningful glance of his own for his son.  "I was privy to his plans.  The last thing he'd want was a diversion.  That isn't how things are done."

"What things?" Dustil wanted to know.

Fed up with having to wait for the old farts to meander around to the point, Mission sighed.  "Canderous kidnapped Bastila because he wants to marry her.  He's taken her to Yavin 13, and we have to figure out if Noura's going to throw the fight so they can get married, or kick his ass because he stole the Ebon Hawk to do it."

Dustil's eyes grew large and round.  "He didn't," he said.  One corner of his mouth turned up.  Once again, Mission was reminded of the kindred spirit and cursed silently.

"He did," Noura said.  "It was kind of romantic in a primitive, knuckle-dragging way."

"Yeah," Mission said, "until things started blowing up."  

Dustil's gaze flicked to her, then to Noura.  "So what are we doing standing around here for?"

"Good question," Revan said.  "Especially as some of us aren't even wearing shoes."

* * *


	66. Will of the Force

Will of the Force

Carth

My son already wore the robes of a Jedi.  We'd been apart only a few hours, and already they sucked him into their clutches as surely as if he'd been dropped into a sarlacc pit.  He folded his hands into the robes and led us into the enclave proper.

"Dustil," I said hesitantly.  "I--"  How, exactly did one apologize to an estranged son for attempting to kill him?

"Dad," he said gently.  "The will of the Force isn't easy to discern.  But things had to happen the way they did."

"No," I said.  "I can't believe that.  I can't believe I'm simply a tool, as if people are of no more significance than a--a hydrospanner!  It isn't right."

"It isn't wrong, either, Dad.  It just...is.  The Force has a way of arranging events so that its will is done."

To me, it sounded like a cop-out.  A way to avoid blame.  The depths of my mind were well-guarded from Jedi influence, though, and I knew that it was my own dark side that spilled out of me like poison from an infected wound, and nearly took Dustil with it.  I still felt it curled inside me, quiet, but ready to wake with the slightest provocation.

Dustil stopped abruptly and looked at me with eyes that were not his own.  "Now you have some inkling as to what the Jedi grapple with, young warrior," he said.

Revan hadn't liked hearing somebody else talk out of my son's mouth.  I hated it.  Hated it with a passion so sharp and ready that had I been a Jedi, I'd have made a good candidate for being a Dark Lord myself.

I turned to look back at my former Dark Lord.  She had her arm around Mission's shoulders, and Mission had her blue limb wrapped around Revan's waist.  They had put their heads together and were whispering.  A worried frown creased Mission's youthful features.

I noticed Dustil had turned as well.  Shadows lurked behind his eyes as he watched the young Twi'lek.  I don't know what went on between them in the jungle, but I knew Mission as well as--hell, probably better than--I knew my own boy.  Only something serious would have made her haul off and sock him like she did.

I noticed Zaalbar noticing Dustil noticing Mission.  The Wookiee bared his teeth and rumbled menacingly.  I gave my son some advice, man to man.  "Dustil," I said quietly, "Let her go.  If you want to be a Jedi, you know you have to."

He looked at me and sighed.  "I know.  I just wish I had an explanation for what hap--what I did to her."

How eerily he echoed my own feelings.  I am not proud of the words that came out of my mouth the next instant.  "The Force manipulates us all, doesn't it?"

One corner of his mouth quirked up.  "Rather Jedi-like of you, Dad.  You been hanging out with them?"

I nudged him gently with my elbow.  "Can't swing a dead gizka without hitting one around me."  For a second, I was reminded of the times I'd come home to Telos on leave.  Dustil would follow me out into the speeder garage and we'd spend hours telling each other stupid jokes and getting so dirty Morgana would forbid us entry into the house until we hosed each other off in the mudroom.

The bond between us, as father and son, emerged from the rubble of our relationship and at that moment I knew it hadn't ever really gone away.  Buried itself, yes, but never broke apart.  I looked into my son's eyes and saw my own relief and awe reflected back.

In typical Jedi fashion, the Council interrupted our moment.

"Felt a disturbance in the Force, we have."

Beside me, Dustil muttered, "Or maybe it was just the loud boom."

Behind us, I heard a Twi'leki snort, followed by a short scuffling as we all came to a halt in the large Council room.  The semi-permanent nature of fibermesh walls and vertical supports reminded me of the Tusken Raider enclave on Tatooine.

Revan stepped forward.  "Masters," she said.  "We have a big problem."

"Nothing that can't be solved over a good night's sleep," Master Vrook said.

"But--"

"Safe in this enclave, you are.  Rest while you can.  This is the will of the Force," Master Vandar pronounced.  Without further ado, we were all ushered off to bed.

Separate beds, damn it all.

* * *


	67. Wisdom

A/N: Once again, thanks to everyone for hanging in there.  I swear, things really are wrapping up.  Pupetmaster180, Solo7MBP, Shadow39, thank you for sticking with me!  Nat2, glad to see you back!  SacredDreams, LeoEyes, Eye-of-the-Storm-1, welcome and thank you for the reviews!  Winterfox - Mission and Dustil are written in third person because their story has yet to be written (not that it isn't plotted out g).

Wisdom

Revan

At first, I was livid at the Masters for not immediately listening to me.  This must have been how I felt when I first petitioned them to go fight the Mandalorians.  Then, I was livid because the apprentice who asked us if we'd mind sharing rooms meant that Mission, Juhani, and I would be sharing a room, instead of Carth and I.  

As we readied to bunk down for the night in the small room that I learned had been intended for Bastila when she rejoined the Council, I noticed that both Mission and Juhani seemed just as fidgety as I felt.  My body ached, even though I'd finally succumbed to the urge to just heal myself.  Even the wound in my rear end was now only a slightly sore scar on the fleshy part of what Jolee would have called the true location of my brain.  Sometimes I hate that old man.

I prepared to lay back on my cot, relieved at the feel of fresh robes on my body, and slightly sensitive after scrubbing my skin raw to get the paint off.  Even my hair--what little there was of it, hurt.  Juhani extinguished the glow rod and the darkness descended on us.  In the background, I heard faint movements, the fibermesh walls not really offering much privacy.  I'd ordered HK to stand guard, but to absolutely not blast any meatbags--he tried to protest this, claiming the conflicting commands would cause him to short-circuit himself.  I didn't buy it and left him in an snit outside our door, and I could hear his electronic buzzes of frustration, and the servo-whir of his head swinging back and forth as he scanned the corridor outside our room.

Then I heard a slight, sharp gasping noise from the pallet next to me.  I tensed.  The noise came again, and again, rhythmic and fast.  I didn't need to be a Jedi to know a sob and feel a person in pain right next to me.  "Hey," I whispered.  "Mission?"

"Huh?" she said huffily, and sniffed.

"C'mere," I said.  I heard her climb off her pallet and feel her way to mine.  "Sit down," I whispered, and put an arm around her shoulders.  I felt her head-tails snake themselves around my ribs.  "Wanna tell me about it?"

"Noura, I'm--I--"  Her fingers, resting on my thigh, curled into a fist.  "I was stuck in that damn storage crate all over again," she said, sniffling.

I realized she was talking about her experience in the jungle, when we were all trapped in prisons of our own mental devising.  Now that things quieted down, we were long past due for some post-traumatic reactions.  

My arms tightened around Mission as she sniffled softly.  Hadn't we all confronted our demons down there in the jungle, manipulated like string-puppets by that evil force?  

My thoughts went to Carth, and the not-Carth that I faced on the top of the temple in my head.  Carth had always been my moral compass during the quest for the Star Forge.  His accusation in my head rang out.  _You're not the only one that's allowed to have a dark side!  _

I hadn't been fair to him at all.  He was so skilled at knowing the right thing to do, even and especially when it was the harder thing to do, that I think I've been counting on him to keep on giving me moral benchmarks, so that I could either adhere to or drift away from them at my discretion.  But I began to doubt myself--if I kept relying on others to tell me where right ended and wrong began, what kind of wisdom did I really have?  My own inner light, that pulled me in what I believed was always the right direction, cast deep shadows.

"Juhani?" I said softly.

"Yes?" Her voice was uncertain, but I could feel the longing radiating from her.

"Come on over," I said.  "There's plenty of room."  I patted the spot next to me.

She crept over.  I put my free arm around her and stroked her silky topknot.  She slipped an arm around my waist, under Mission's head-tails.  We stayed silent like that for a while, just holding each other.  My only regret, which startled me, was that Bastila was not here to share the moment.  

Mission finally spoke again.  "I was confused," she said.  "I remember, when we were coming to Taris, that box was my home for weeks.  Griff told me--he said, as long as we had our boxes to hide in, that we'd be okay.  One time, somebody came in the hold to check the cargo after a jump out of hyperspace, and I remember thinking as hard as I could that my box would keep me safe."  She sniffled again.  "And then by the time the trip was over, I was sick of that box.  I wanted to run and jump and just get the hell out of that box."  She laughed hoarsely.  "But in the jungle.  In my head, I mean, I was so confused.  That box was a prison, but I was afraid to leave it.  I was so scared that somebody would find me, and at the same time, I wanted to be pulled out of it."

Juhani's hand lightly stroked Mission's arm where they touched around my waist.  "Even though I did not give into the temptation to strike down Xor on Korriban when I had the chance--" here, I stiffened slightly, ashamed now that I had urged her on at the time.  It was justice, I believed, and I still do.  I don't regret that he ended up becoming belligerent and ambushed us on Manaan, where I was able to strike him down, but I now realized that while his death would put her past in balance, it would knock her present out of whack.

That was the real problem, wasn't it?  I used Carth as my moral compass, rather than leaning on the Jedi Code, and the will of the Force, but I turned around and forced other people to subscribe to the moral code I'd barely worked out for myself, when my will would affect them differently--more negatively--than it would me.

Juhani continued.  "Even with his death, I had not released my hatred of him.  Of what he stood for.  My fury, my baser instincts."

We became quiet again.  "I guess it's my turn to make my own confession."  I thought for a minute.  How could I sum up the lessons the jungle taught me?  Did I even know them?  Or was I fast-talking myself again?  "I don't know nearly as much as I think I do."

Mission snorted.  "Is that all?"

"All?  Mission, do you realize how dangerous that is for me?  Especially with my personality and my--history?  I bet I was an absolute nightmare for the Council and my masters before.  I still can't remember the details about my first quest for the Star Forge, but I bet I was convinced I was right and I knew everything back then, too."  I hesitated.  "Back in the jungle, I thought I knew everything about Carth.  He's always been pretty easy for me to read."

"That's because you stare holes in his rear end every chance you get," Mission said.  Juhani chuckled. 

I smiled myself.  "You gotta admit, the view isn't bad."

"For an old guy," she said.

"But besides that," I said, getting back to serious.  Thinking about ogling Carth was a guaranteed way to keep me from getting the much-needed peace I craved.  "I didn't give him enough credit.  Mission, you missed it, but you should have seen him."  I shuddered.  "I never realized how much--how deep and complex he is.  How everybody is.  How the past and the present and the future all wind up and twist around each other.  Maybe it's because my past is somebody else's."

"There's always room to learn," she said philosophically.

We sat in more silence, and I followed my train of thought as it touched on how much I had come to rely on my friends.  I leaned my head on Juhani's shoulder and stroked Mission's arm.  We must've fallen asleep that way, piled up on each other like kittens, because I awoke to HK's agitated mechanical voice denying access to a quavery-voiced apprentice.  Before I could speak, Mission yelled irritably.  "Oh, just let 'em in, for Zim's sake, and knock off the racket!"

I opened one eye to see an apprentice enter cautiously.  The young man's eyes widened and he started stammering.  "P-p-please--beg your--I--er--ma'ams--uhh..."

"What?" I asked, feeling cranky enough to consider pulling whatever he had to say forcibly out of him via Force-choke.

"B-b-breakf-fast," he blurted out.

"Happens every morning if you're lucky," Mission said, diving back under a pillow.

"Im-immediately after."  The apprentice looked like a Zeltron, he was so pink in the face.

"Get to the point, man," I said.  Beside me, Juhani twitched and sighed.

"The m-m-masters will s-see y-you," he said to the floor.

"Good," I said, cricking my neck.  It dawned on me that I had been sleeping half on top of a Cathar, and half underneath a Twi'lek.  I've never been a teenage boy, but I didn't need to be to realize what must be going through the apprentice's mind at the sight of three women in the same bed.  I started to giggle, and my giggles developed into full-blown belly laughs.

I laughed enough to wake up Juhani, who stretched, purred, and turned over, nudging me off the pallet with her hip.  I ended up kicking Mission, who'd sat up and stared bleary-eyed at the virtually flaming apprentice.

"Go on, kid," I said.  "You think the Masters don't know everything that goes on around here?"  

The apprentice bolted.  I sat up and stretched.

"You really should not have so much fun with people that way.  It's not nice at all," Juhani said.

"Bummer Canderous had to miss that," Mission mumbled, still half asleep.  "He'd have a million things to say about it."

Juhani made a delicate, feline snort.  "I believe I will not miss his crudeness for a little while."

"It can be endearing, in its own way," I said.  To Juhani, I said, "I think that was the best sleep I've had in weeks, even if we were a little crowded."  On our way to the Star Forge, Juhani confessed to feelings for me.  She knew, she said, that I was in love with Carth, but she felt she needed to let me know that she felt something, too.  I'd held her hand, and called her sister.  She has feelings for me, but I know they're there for the wrong reasons.  Master Vandar was right to caution her not to fall into hero-worship of me.  Especially as I neither deserve nor desire it.

"I did not find it--unpleasant--to have company while facing the spectres of dream."

"Hey, sometimes you need your friends," Mission said.  I remembered Juhani telling me once that she'd remained somewhat apart from the other students at the enclave.  I also remembered how all of us had our fluid sleeping arrangements aboard the Ebon Hawk.  Portside crew quarters had started out as no man's land, but after Mission kept finding her way into the starboard quarters to curl up near Zaalbar--"I just can't sleep well without smelling Wookiee close by"--and me avoiding them because of my rocky relationship with Bastila, we all just accepted the bunk-hopping and made sure to knock before barging in.  

In the beginning, I both wanted to avoid Bastila and stay close to Carth.  As the first face I saw when I woke up, and the most familiar face I could remember, I'd always sought him out.  After my Jedi training began, I sort of hoped that not sharing a room with Bastila would keep the visions we shared from overwhelming me.  The first vision we shared--the one on Dantooine--hit me so strongly I'd spent an entire day with a coldpack on my head to keep my brain from dribbling out my ears.

I actually dozed off at the navicomputer station twice one night on our way to Tatooine, before Canderous threw a datapad at me.  "Go sleep somewhere else, lady," he said.

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

"Kath crap.  You're drooling all over the hyperdrive controls."

I looked down, startled, and swiped at the console with my sleeve.  "I'd rather stay up."

He glowered at me.  "If you fall asleep at that station again, you'll wake up in the airlock without an evac suit."

I didn't trust him not to make good on his threat.  "I don't want to be anywhere near her," I finally said.

Canderous rolled his eyes.  "So go sleep in my bunk, then."

I'd have hated myself if I passed that one up.  "Why Canderous Ordo, are you propositioning me?"

"When I proposition you, you'll know," he said.  I raised my eyebrows questioningly.  "By the lump on the back of your skull," he finished.

"They say romance is dead."  I made a face.  "I think I just found out who killed it."  Like much of my humor in the course of our journey so far, it bounced right off his thick skull.

"Get your bratty ass to crew quarters before I drag it there for you."

"What about you?"

"I'll sleep next to Her Jediness.  It makes her nervous."

My eyebrows climbed again.  "You've done it before?  Brave of you."  Thinking back, I wondered if the two of them hadn't begun a cautious, unconscious invasion of each other's comfort zones even then. 

"It isn't like I have a choice.  Half the time I come off shift, Mission's already commandeered my bunk, and Onasi's impossible to move once he's down."  At the time, I accepted the explanation.  Now that I knew him better, and he and Carth had gotten into enough quarrels ending in death threats over everything from allocation of our collective resources to who had to brew new caffa when the current supply was low, I knew he'd be more likely to just roll Carth out of his bunk and onto the floor without a second thought.  If I'd been a better Jedi back then, or a better person, I might have spotted something, although I wasn't at all sure if I'd have let it pass without taking some cheap shots.

Juhani had been conscripted early this morning to assist in combat training some of the youngsters already installed in the new enclave.  She'd worried, and wanted to stay in case I needed protecting.  But at the same time, I could see that she wanted some time in the combat exercise room.  "Go on," I said.  "You already know the story I'm going to tell.  Keep your ears open for any news about last night, though.  And don't have too much fun toying with the little darlings." I said, grinning at her.

After breakfast, as we waited in the enclave's common area for the Masters to summon us, I sat with Mission in a tranquil corner where jungle flora bloomed amidst a small fountain.  The new enclave echoed the design basis of the old one, taking its cues to summon serenity from the environment around it.  Where the fat, stunted trees and fast-running streams ornamented the Dantooine haven, the Yavin enclave boasted thick tangles of jungle blooms and vines around splashing waterfall fountains.  Yet in spite of the tranquility, Mission's hostility rolled off her in an almost palpable wave whenever Dustil was nearby.

"Blue?" I asked in a low voice as I sidled up next to her.  "You okay?"

She gave me a sideways look, then refocused on the back of Dustil's head, trying to drill holes into it with her mental capacity alone.

"Unless you developed Force powers overnight, kiddo, he's not going to drop dead just from you looking at him," I said, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"I can dream, can't I?" She retorted.  Nevertheless, she slipped her arm around my waist and one of her head-tails drifted around my shoulders.

I shook my head.  I had my own issues with Dustil--starting at the Sith academy when he'd been such a snot-nosed brat while Carth was so obviously suffering--but now wasn't the time or place to hash them out.  Not in anger.  I grimaced.  How very wise I seemed to be sounding these days.  You'd think I'd actually learned something from the Council or the whole Star Forge mission, or the Jedi training I received not once, but twice, even if I couldn't remember the first time.

But Carth and his son seemed to be feeling around for emotional ground on their own.  Carth hovered around his son, and Dustil seemed to lean towards his father.  The Force is with them, I thought.  It wants things to be right between them.  It's times like these when I have no problem trusting in the will of the Force.

Mission seemed, if not content, at least stable, so I answered the insistent call in my own head and went in search of caffa.  The Jedi were big tea drinkers, but you'd think that caffa was a tool of the Dark Side with the trip I had to take to track it down.

I rounded a corner near the combat exercise field and heard female voices, one of them liltingly familiar, both low and intense with unspoken emotions.  "Noura is--I cannot express how I feel about her," Juhani said.

"I am grateful to her for saving you from the Dark Side, and for being such a good friend to you in your time of need.  And yet I cannot help but harbor hate in my heart for who she is."

"Belaya--"

"No, let me finish.  The hate I harbor is not for her as a Sith Lord.  It is for what she means to you.  Does she appreciate you, I wonder?  Truly?"

I froze.  I remembered Belaya from training on Dantooine, and she and I had never gotten along, starting from the first time she accused me of disrespecting traditions I wasn't even part of when I first arrived at the Enclave.  Her gratitude to me after I convinced Juhani to return to the Masters was sincere, but stilted, and now I knew why.

"'Laya," Juhani said.  "I owe her so much.  She means so much to me, has saved me so many times--"

"If she is such a wondrous Jedi, I wonder why she has not forgiven you your debt."  I didn't need to see Belaya's face to hear the hurt clouding the younger Jedi's thoughts.  

"Belaya, do not say such things!  They are the products of anger!"

"It is anger on your behalf!  I--I love you, Juhani.  I have missed you so much.  These many months, there hasn't been a night I haven't looked up at the stars and wondered if you were doing the same...and missing me as much as I missed you."

"I did," Juhani said.  "But we are--love is--" Juhani's voice faltered.  "The Code..."

"The Code does not forbid love," Belaya said softly.  "How could it forbid something as wondrous and right as this?"

I heard silence then, and peeked around the corner.  Juhani and Belaya were locked in a tender embrace.  The human woman ran her fingers lightly over the stripes around Juhani's topknot, a gesture I had often done myself, but not with the aching desire with which her slender fingers trembled.  Juhani leaned into her touch and even from this far away, I could still sense the bond between the two women.  Unlike my bond with her, the affinity between the two of them flowed freely back and forth, and ran deeply.  In spite of my affection for the Cathar woman, and my desire to keep her and the rest of the crew of the Hawk together forever because I needed them so much, I suddenly felt horribly selfish.  I thought I knew Juhani, and thought she needed a place away from the Council to heal after what Quatra pulled with her.  But the last thing I wanted to do was to drag her away from the one person who could give her the love she needed to heal.

I made my way back to Mission and my caffa went cold in my hand.  We moped together in silence until she blew out an aggravated sigh.  "This waiting blows," she said.  "It's too tranquil around here."

After having heard what I just did, tranquility would have been welcome.

* * *


	68. Insurance

Insurance

Carth

In spite of my frustration at being yanked away from Revan, the overall outcome turned out to be a blessing.  I was able to share Dustil's quarters, and ended up staying up late and talking.  I was grateful we had such a long time to do it, though, because it took me a while to relax around the fact that my child had a deceased Jedi Master rattling around in his head.

I started off by talking about Morgana, how we'd met--I'd been Dustil's age, newly minted out of Telosian militia boot camp, and my first assignment was to police a park where a group of protesters were holding a march in support of Telos joining the Republic.  "Your mother," I said to my son, fond memory in my voice, "was the lead troublemaker.  She had the biggest sign, and the loudest mouth, and the prettiest green eyes I'd ever seen."  I told him of how she'd resisted my every effort at being nice to her.  "She thought all militia men were as short-sighted and anti-Republic as the government we worked for."

"You were anti-Republic?" Dustil asked in amazement.

"No," I said.  "Actually, I didn't much care at the time.  I would have run for the Republic Senate if it would mean your mother would've given me the time of day."  I chuckled.  "But the Independent Separatist Alliance was the controlling party in our government.  They felt we should keep to ourselves, that if we didn't join the Republic, their wars would stay off our doorstep.  But it didn't work out that way.  I was soon called into the planetary defense force against Mandalorian raiders, and when Telos finally applied to join the Republic, I was one of the first to go.  Your mother and I were pretty much a couple by then.  My Captain--" here, I slowed my speaking, letting the memories wash over me for the first time untainted with the pain that usually followed.  "My Captain registered our marriage vows just before I shipped out."  I laughed, remembering the way Morgana had unconsciously stroked the stiff fabric of my new Republic uniform that day, and how the collar had dug into my neck painfully. I could have loosened it, but I kept it buttoned all the way up because the way she looked at me made me want to melt into my boots.

"But--I thought Mother hated the Republic for taking you away from us."

"Son, I don't know where you got that idea," I said heavily.  "Your mother and I both knew there was a larger dream at stake than just our getting to spend time together.  She was a refugee relief worker--she saw what happened to those who ignored the threats to our sector of space."

"Dad," he said hesitantly.  "I had no idea.  The Sith--Saul--"

I closed my eyes and fought back the sudden rage.  Force only knew what kind of lies they'd fed him.  He was a far cry today from the angry, embittered, vicious young man he'd been on Korriban, but the Sith were good at what they did--if the web of lies was thick enough, its remnants would remain for years after it had been pulled down.  But raging against them, I knew, was futile.  We beat them back, and we'd keep doing it until they threatened us no more.  Instead, I asked, "Dustil...did they--did they treat you well?"

He made a small sound.  "I guess," he said.  "I mean, I had companions.  We'd work together to keep ourselves on top, when we didn't have to compete.  The Academy wasn't so bad.  Great food.  Once a week, the kitchen staff did a really killer feast."

Back on the Ebon Hawk, Noura had asked Jolee once about what he knew about the Sith.  The cantankerous old Jedi had replied bluntly.  _"Evil people.  Make a great sandwich."  _I hadn't realized he was being quite so literally truthful.  "At least they fed you well," I said lamely.

"And I had friends.  People who wanted to see me succeed."

"Those are allies, Dustil," I said, feeling a heavy guilt at the way he'd been warped.  "Friends will help you succeed, and even if by some chance you don't, they'll be there for you anyway."

"Sure, I suppose so," he said.  "I mean, at the academy, we weren't really encouraged to form attachments."

Considering where we were, that sounded like a disturbingly familiar song.  The Sith can be fools.  So can the Jedi.  I had to wonder if he realized he was trading one type of prison for another.

"Trust bonds are dangerous, " he was saying, "in a Sith Academy.  That was a lesson you learned quickly, or not at all."

I knew that lesson backwards and forwards.  I rubbed my eyes with one hand, staring into the darkness.  In the years we'd been separated, I hadn't needed the Sith to teach me that lesson.  "It's a lesson you can unlearn," I said, more to myself than to him.  "I did.  Am," I amended in an effort to keep things honest.

"With Noura," he said.  "Or Revan."  He sighed.  "Gah, Father, how did you handle it?  When you found out that she--"

"Used to be the Dark Lord of the Sith?" I said wryly.  "I didn't handle it very well.  I'd gotten so used to expecting betrayal that for a time, it was all about me, how she'd betrayed me, and how the Jedi betrayed me."

"What broke you out of it?" He asked.

I thought back to that limbo-time on the Ebon Hawk after we'd escaped the Leviathan.  Ironically it had been Mission and Canderous who'd blasted me out of my funk.  Mission, because of the solid faith she showed in Noura, and her fretful agitation while Noura closed herself in the cargo bay.  And Canderous with his fists, literally.

He'd waited until we were well underway, and I'd left the piloting to Jolee and Zaalbar.  As I crossed through the common area, headed towards my bunk, he strode up to me, shot out a fist, and nailed me in the jaw. I snarled and struck back, but he caught my hand.  "Save it, Republic," he snapped.  "I stand with her no matter what happens.  If she falls to the Dark Side, it'll be my pleasure to put the boots on her feet that will grind the Republic to dust."

I sneered at him around my bleeding mouth.  "Sith Lords go well with mindlessly obedient lackeys."

He shook his head and snorted.  "She's an honorable woman, and a great warrior.  I'll fight for the Republic against Malak if she decides that's what she wants.  And maybe she'll...appreciate...the man who stayed loyal."

I knew what he implied.  And it filled me with rage.  I grabbed him by the collar of his utility vest.  "Don't you touch her.  Don't you even _think _about touching her.  Lay a finger on her, you Mandalorian fuck, and I'll kill you myself."

He stared down at me, flint-eyed.  "So you do care about her.  And here you are, wasting time and effort on me while she's alone and wasting her breath on your sorry ass."

I let him go, then, my shoulders sagging in defeat.  I didn't expect him to understand.  Whatever vengeances he'd sworn himself to, he'd been able to take.  My vengeance was ripped from me at the moment of my triumph when Saul's last breaths were taken between mocking laughs and harsh words of betrayal.

"Dad?" Dustil said, bringing me back to the present.  "What knocked you out of it?"

"Left uppercut to the jaw, son."  I hadn't thought to give him the proper credit.  Canderous could hit just as hard with psychological weapons as he could with those hams he called fists when he really wanted to.

"Canderous?"

"Yep," I said.  "He knocked some sense into me and made me realize that Noura was more than just her past."  I suddenly wished Noura were around to hear me say my next words.  "I--accept her past now, I think.  She's helped me remember how to laugh."

"Aren't you afraid that she'll fall to the Dark Side?"

I didn't have an answer for his question.  At least, not one that would make sense to anyone, even me.  "I have to hope," I said, after a long pause for thought, "that loving her will be enough."

"Loving her," he said tonelessly.  

I realized I was speaking to a Jedi.  "I don't expect you to--what I mean is--oh, hell," I said, frustrated.  "Look, after what happened in that jungle today, I'm more familiar with the Dark Side than I ever was before.  I've felt what it does to me, and I've seen what it did to her, to Juhani, and even Bastila.  And I don't think being afraid of it is the way to deal with it."

Yet that's exactly what the Council would attempt to enforce with Noura.  Panic gripped me.  Noura was strong, true, but I had the feeling that the Council had indulged her in her actions since the Star Forge thus far.  They hadn't just let her walk out of here this morning free and clear with Bastila, Juhani, and Jolee--they let her risk herself and the other Jedi to clean up their mess, and when it came time for her to really leave, I was sure she'd discover that her leash was long, but it had a limit.

We fell asleep after that, but I can't say I awoke rested.  In spite of the tranquil aura permeating the Jedi Enclave, I was restless at breakfast.  Being surrounded by Jedi, and the accompanying sense that my thoughts and feelings were on display for all the apprentices and padawans to read, didn't help with my feelings.  Dustil turned out to be a surprising solace.

"I'm a little intimidated myself," he said.  "At dinner last night, _everybody _stared at me."  He lowered his voice.  "Master Nayal tells me that a Jedi should be above worrying what others think, but it's going to take me a while to not automatically search for a weakness to exploit in my fellow apprentices and padawans."

My son and I were kindred spirits, at least in our moods at the moment.  Predators in a pastoral setting.  I felt like a caged razor cat accidentally shipped to a petting zoo.  At the other end of the table, I saw Noura get up.  Mission followed suit.  I pushed away from the table myself, but Dustil put out a hand to stop me.  "Not yet," he said, with a meaningful glance towards the other side of the room.  In addition to apprentices and padawans, teachers and other guests of the Order dined as well, and I noticed that some of those instructors were eyeing our table not so casually.

I sat back down and tried to control my seething.  I almost wished for Jolee's presence.  The old man would have had something smart to say about my temper, with the intended effect of cooling it, and it would have worked.  But Jolee and the other Council members hadn't made an appearance.  Presumably, they were planning to hear us right after breakfast.  "How is your--" I made a motion towards Dustil's head, "--Master, anyway?"

"Dead," he said.  "But quite conscious," the Master replied.  "Thank you for inquiring."

I looked hard at my son.  He had Morgana's green eyes--one of the few traits she'd given him.  But when that resonant tone emerged from his throat, his eyes darkened to almost black.  Aware that I addressed a strange and ancient being inhabiting my child's skin, I put both hands flat on the table and stared.  "I'm entrusting to you the care of my only child," I said flatly.

He nodded.  "The bond between master and apprentice is a sacred vow we hold in high esteem.  I will endeavor to see him properly trained in the ways of the Force.  And the Jedi."

My jaw tightened.  "That's what I'm afraid of," I muttered.

"Whatever your feelings regarding the current Council, know that the Order serves the Force.  Do not presume to think the will of a single being is anything but subject to the will of the greater Force."

Back to that again, were we?  I nodded, realizing that  there just wasn't any argument for that--at least, not one I was prepared to make.

Dustil's master smiled a small smile.  "Yet do not presume that the will of the Force is always readily apparent to either the Order or the Council."  He glanced around.  "It is now safe to go and find your woman."

Dustil's eyes bled to green again and he shook his head and looked at me.  "Well?  Go on!"

I smiled.  My relationship with my son will never be conventional, I realized.  But we're not conventional people, I guess.  

I left the dining hall and spotted Revan just as she and Mission parted ways.  I ducked into a thick tangle of ornamental greenery surrounding a fountain in an alcove and grabbed her as she passed.

"What?  Oh!" she gasped, breaking into a smile.  "It's you," she said.

I pulled her back into the alcove, into the redolent greenness of the plants.  The heavy scent of chlorophyll filled the air between us and I pushed her against the wall.  "Missed you last night, Beautiful," I said.

"Me, too," she said, smiling up at me.  "The Council--"

"Can wait a few minutes," I said.  I kissed her then, pulling her body hard against mine.  She made a small sound in the back of her throat and twined her arms around my neck as she opened for me.  I tasted the caffa-sweet essence that I'd come to associate with her and soaked up the lithe energy radiating from her body pressed against mine.  I'd told her I wanted to wait, to take the time and be so thorough with her that she'd have little doubt left that the waiting was worth it.  I still had very specific plans in mind for that time, but here, in the Enclave, surrounded by the will of the Council, I wanted to remind her that she had a will of her own.

Only I wasn't thinking such advanced thoughts right then.  I thought only of the taste of her, of the scent of wild herbs that undoubtedly came from some beauty potion or another, the feel of her barely leashed power dancing along my own skin and aching for it to wash over me completely.  My hands found their way inside the folds of her Jedi robes and found warm skin beneath.  She let out a long sigh as I stroked her sides, my fingers coming up to just beneath the swell of her breasts.

She broke the kiss.  "Carth," she whispered shakily.  "We have to go in now."

I buried my face in her neck and breathed her in once more.  She leaned back against the wall and for a mad moment, I seriously considered lifting her up against that wall--

"You could," she whispered impishly, reading my thoughts.  Not like they weren't transparently in evidence.

I shook my head and took a few deep breaths.  The words of that damn Jedi Code swam in my head.  _Peace_..._Serenity_...  "I could," I said.  "But we'd have to keep quiet."  I grinned down at her, feeling more than a little impish myself.  "And I want to hear you scream."

Her eyes widened at that, dancing with wicked merriment and something else, something deeper and full of promise.  "You might look like the clean-cut golden boy of the Republic, but you play damn dirty, you know that?"

I chuckled.  "It's the boyish good looks," I said.  "Keeps 'em unsuspecting."

She shoved me gently out of our little green haven.  "That's another promise I'm holding you to."

"It's one I'll have no trouble keeping."

* * *


	69. Jedi Mind Tricks

Jedi Mind Tricks

Revan

Carth plays dirty, and I will get him back.  He's as evil as a Sith, no matter what he says.  Only a truly devious being would kiss me witless right before I had to go into a situation that required all my wits and then some.

Mission rejoined us outside the doors of the chamber.  As we entered the large, makeshift council chamber to find the Council and Jolee waiting for us, she reached up and plucked greenery from my topknot.  Now if my wobbly knees would only stiffen with the same ease.  

"Sensed a disturbance in the Force, we have," Master Vandar said, as he had last night.  _That was just me_, I thought, _coming really close to almost getting laid right under your wrinkled noses._  I noticed Dustil was there as well, standing off to one side of the masters.  Or--no, not Dustil.  I sensed the keen interest of his ghostly master.__

"We have a situation," I said without preamble.  Just once, I'd like for them not to already know everything I was telling them.  "My room exploded.  I lived.  Bastila's room got tossed by somebody who hates her and knows she fell to the Dark Side, and I'm just glad she's gone because if she'd made it back to her room--"  I don't know if I sacrificed coherence for brevity, but I stopped my babbling when I noticed their eyes lose focus.

Vrook spoke.  "We are aware of the explosion at the governor's estate.  But where is Bastila?"

Mission ended up being more coherent, and the one most impatient to get the story out.  "Canderous kidnapped Bastila because he wants to marry her."

I had the delightful opportunity to see how close Master Vrook's jaw actually came to the floor when it dropped open.  Master Vandar's pointy gray-green ears curled up at the ends.  _Wow--wishes do come true_, I thought.

The Masters glanced at each other and I was suddenly, uneasily reminded of another time when they had shared meaningful looks.  On Dantooine, back when I was just a faceless blockade runner with short-term memory loss and a knack for being in the right place at the wrong time.

"Discuss this, we must.  In private, amongst ourselves," Master Vandar said.

"Oh no," I said, feeling like Carth must have felt back then--so far out of the loop I was in the next star system.  "Her fate affects me.  Did you forget about that bond between us?"

"That bond was broken with the destruction of the Star Forge," Vrook said sharply.

"Are you sure?" I asked.  A sudden flash of insight made me wonder if our inadvertent bond had indeed broken, only to be repaired or replaced with one that both of us unconsciously wanted.  Instruments of our own torment, the pair of us.

Carth stepped forward.  "With all due respect, Masters," he said, without a lot of due respect in his voice, "I'm Canderous's second in this, and I speak for him in this matter."

Whatever I was about to say to the Council died in my throat as I watched Carth draw himself up.  It struck me then, that Carth himself would have made a better Jedi than me.  He spent much of his life fighting against the Mandalorians, had witnessed the brutality they were capable of, yet here and now, he stood as one of them, against the defenders of the Republic, because of the bonds of friendship.  Talk about seeing the bigger picture.

"So that's what you two were on about last night," Jolee muttered.  "I should have kept a better eye on you."

Carth smiled.  "We're sorry we didn't ask you to help.  There wasn't time."

Jolee glowered, but it didn't reach his eyes.  I could feel the low undercurrent of amusement rippling from him.  I'm glad he found some entertainment out of this, but I was more than a little worried about Bastila and Canderous being out there alone on the Ebon Hawk.  

Carth addressed the Council.  "In the Mandalorian tradition, he's got three days to convince her to accept his proposal.  In those three days, she's free to make however many attempts at escape she wants to.  At the end of three days, we rendezvous on Yavin 13 and he's obligated to fight the leader of her clan to prove he's a worthy husband."

And once again, the girlish romantic in me--the same one that kicked Canderous in the shin when he made fun of me for uniting Shen Matale and Rahasia Sandral instead of letting their families shoot each other--went all soft inside at the notion of being hauled off bodily to a love nest by my man.  Granted, that alcove hadn't been that big, but I'd have made do.  I thought I sighed in stereo until I realized that beside me, Mission had also gone a bit glassy-eyed.  "What are we, crazy?" I muttered.

"Just a couple of mushmelons," she muttered back.

Master Vrook regarded Carth with a haughty expression.  "I'm well aware of how Mandalorians acquire mates.  However, they do not acquire them from the ranks of the Jedi Order.  We're not a marriage mart."

Master Vandar held out a small green hand.  "Serenity, Master Vrook.  Discuss this, we must.  At work, the Force is."

Jolee humphed and turned a gimlet eye on us.  "The Force is always at work where you lot are concerned.  Now shoo!"

As Carth, Mission, and I left the room, I realized that Dustil and Jolee remained behind.  Dustil, I expected, because of that Master in his head.  But Jolee?  I only hoped he changed them more than they changed him.

On leaving the Council chambers, I had every intention of getting a little back for that episode in the potted plants.  I grabbed Carth and pulled him to a shadowy corner.  "All right, flyboy," I said, and wrapped my arms around his neck.  Mission made a disgusted noise and stalked off in the other direction.  My efforts were rewarded with another one of his trademark, knee-wobbling kisses.

I sighed in contentment.  "I don't know how I'm going to wait three more days," I said.  "By the time we get to Yavin 13, I'm going to be so wound up, I might accidentally kill Canderous.  You sure you won't reconsider a quickie?  I'm sure we could find a few teenagers and threaten them into telling us where the local make-out spots are."

He chuckled.  "No quickies.  I mean that," he said firmly, and I got the feeling he was convincing himself as well as me.  Good.  I didn't want to be the only one suffering.  "I'm going to treat you right," he said.  "Make it unforgettable."

I sighed again.  Where did he develop this talent for seduction?  Or had it always been there, lurking beneath the surface and waiting for likely prey?

"Speaking of Yavin 13," he said.  "There are arrangements I need to make with the ambassador from Yavin 8."

I drew back and gave him a look.  "You've managed to involve the whole star system in this?  I thought it was strictly a private thing--a family thing," I said, borrowing Mission's term.

"Well, the place where Canderous and Bastila are in seclusion belongs to Ambassador Aktil.  She was the young lady I was talking to last night."

I remembered her.  "The one who looked about Mission's age?  And here I thought you were chatting her up."

"Jealous?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.  I stuck out my tongue at him.  He responded by nipping at it, capturing my lips with his in another kiss.  "Sorry, gorgeous," he whispered, "I like 'em with a little more experience."

The laughter died in my throat.

"What?" he asked, tilting my chin up with his hand.  His dark eyes were concerned.

"I'm not sure if I have more experience," I said.  "I can't for the life of me remember a single ex-lover."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Nobody with a mind as dirty as yours can get could be a virgin."

"Sure they could.  You know what they say about big talkers--I could be a completely clueless virgin for all my shooting my mouth off.  Or worse--" here I clapped a hand over said mouth, "what if I suck in bed?  In a bad way, I mean."

His shoulders started to shake and I realized he was laughing at me.  "What?" I said crossly.  "It's a legitimate worry."

He kissed me again, this time reaching into my robes to tease my bare skin with his fingers, and sparks danced along my nerve endings, carrying with them waves of heat and pleasure.  I clutched the lapels of his jacket in my fists and my toes curled inside my boots.

He lifted his head from mine.  "Consider it an opportunity," he said.  "If you're terrible, then we'll just have to practice until we get it right."

* * *


	70. Tactical Advantage

Tactical Advantage

Canderous

I remember telling Mission aboard the Ebon Hawk that my relationship with Bastila was complicated.  Nothing had changed since then.  I almost wished she were a Mandalorian woman.  Things would be simpler between us.  

I had no fathom of where I stood with her.  Her fury at being kidnapped was expected--even a willing bride would be expected to put up a token fight.  

She didn't seem to be impressed with my kills.  I piled them up in front of the hunting shed during the first day of our seclusion.  She didn't come out of the lodge.  But when I returned at the end of the day, I noticed that one of the carcasses had been dressed, the pelt neatly tacked to a tanning board.  I remembered that her father had been a hunter.  The act gave me hope.

But she showed no warmth to me.  She sat in the common room with a datapad and refused to even look at me.  "Don't you have something to say to me?" she said, holding up a stack of datacards.

"What have you got there?" I asked, hoping it wasn't recipe cards for tasteless and odorless poisons.

She held up a datacard.  " 'Cultural Analysis of the Peoples of the Mandalore Clans.' "  She dropped it.  " 'Mandalorian Battle Techniques: An Overview.' "  And finally, the third.  " 'Notorious Scourges of the Galaxy: Famous Mandalorians Through History.' "

I raised my eyebrows.  Republic had told me he'd packed some things I might be needing.  I scoffed at the time--the only requirements for a Bridal Raid were the warrior, his woman, and plenty of ammunition.  His inclusion of the datacards was something I wouldn't have thought of, but the time we spent as battle brothers showed me that he's a details man.

"Wonder if my great-uncle Rogushatek is in there.  He raided all the way to the Kuat Drive Yards before they blew him to space dust," I said, fond memories of tales from my childhood leaping readily to mind.  A lost time, an earlier era.

"I'll make sure to check," she said.  "My reading about the Mandalorian culture has proven rather--enlightening."  She folded her arms.  "Don't you have something...poetic to say to me?"

I scowled.  She was, of course, correct.  "In the time of the clans, my clan's bard would have composed a song in your honor."  I very keenly felt the absence of clansmen at my side.  I had no worries about proving my skill in hunting or battle, but I had no tactical advantage without a blade or blaster in my hand.  Even after throwing in my lot with Noura, and her tendency to disarm opponents with charm, no one dared to suggest I take a file from her datapad on that.

"Indeed," she said, a note of triumph in her voice.

"My clan has no bards," I said, feeling a flush creep up my neck.  Carth's advice from the previous night came back to me.

"_She's not Mandalorian_," he said.  "_It's going to take more than kills to impress her_."

I had dismissed his warning.  Pretty words were never what she'd wanted from me.  The exact opposite, in fact.  She wanted me rough and violent.  Only now did I see that as the way she kept me in my place.

She leaned back.  "That is not my problem."  Damn her Jedi training for that blank expression on her beautiful face.

I glowered.  "You're a beautiful woman," I said.  I couldn't be any worse off with her.

To my surprise, she blushed.  Damn me if Onasi didn't have something going with his calling Revan "beautiful" and "gorgeous" all the time.  

"And?" she asked, looking thoroughly entertained in spite of the cool Jedi mask.

"And we will make fine sons and daughters together," I said.

"You may continue," she said in a tone that had me clenching my fists to keep from taking her down a peg.  The Jedi Princess was back.

My scowl deepened.  "You're making this difficult, aren't you?"

She raised an eyebrow.  "Should I make it easy?  I thought Mandalorians liked a challenge."

She certainly made it challenging for me to do things the right way.  I was having enough trouble without a wordsmith to provide me with the proper language.  I felt more optimistic about storming a Huttese crime fortress on Tatooine.  Since emerging from the jungle, I've been acting like a lovesick fool.  I've never been one before, and the role doesn't suit me.  

"I like your hair like that," I growled.  "All messy like you just got out of bed."  On board the Ebon Hawk, it was all I could do not to bury my face in her hair.  I gave in to the urge a little now, lifting my hand to one of the beaded braids hanging close to her cheek.  "And it drives me crazy when you make those little moaning noises in the back of your throat when you're about to--"

"_That _will _do_!" she said hastily, her face turning pink.

I laughed then, and sensed the possibility of victory.  Lovesick fools can't see a battle for what it is.  But warriors can, and I am a warrior. A warrior that just discovered a tactical advantage.

* * *


	71. Discipline

Discipline

Dustil

//_I know where your attention is going, Apprentice, and I don't appreciate it._//__

_I thought we agreed you weren't going to take advantage of our unusual closeness, Master_.  Sure, it gave him an edge in the combat room to have a five hundred year old Jedi Master in his head, but the advantage ended at those doors.  Even at the Sith academy, he could still occasionally zone out during a class without being called to task for it.

//_I need an apprentice with his mind on more important things than chasing females._//__

_I was not chasing her!  Or even thinking about chasing her_, he retorted.

//_Then you do not need to know where she went after leaving this room_.//

Maybe not, and he might have been less curious had he not seen a green Twi'lek with an awfully familiar face.  He'd met Galran Me on Manaan, after Roland Wann discovered who his father was.  Galran had been the first Republic Intelligence officer to visit him.  The Twi'lek seemed familiar then, too, and when he questioned him about it, Galran told him a tale that shocked him out of a little of the anger he still nursed towards his father.

"A group of civilians in Dreshdae managed to cross Master Uthar.  He ordered us to kill them.  They were Tarisian refugees.  He ordered us to hunt them down and slaughter them in cold blood."  The Twi'lek's green head-tails lashed angrily, "For having the temerity to want to sell him the Tarisian Ale that was all they had to trade for food and supplies, rather than make a gift of it to him in gratitude that he stopped to look at their wares."

What Dustil had remembered as a fun adventure--going to the bazaar in Dreshdae to see baubles, trinkets, and junk of every type offered up by the spouses and families of Czerka employees having the misfortune to be stationed there--turned sour in his stomach.  He remembered Serena's delight when he gave her a necklace made out of twisted wires.  He'd gotten the necklace when he accidentally knocked over a small display table at one of the merchant booths.  Since no one else was around, he'd opened his mouth to apologize, but the woman there simply shook her head, her eyes wide with fear.  _"Here, sir," she'd said.  "Take it.  It is yours.  The Sith are powerful, and must be feared."_

At the time, his chest swelled with pride.  Respect, that's what he had.  Here was a woman who knew who held the upper hand.  The Sith, and he was proud to be one of them.  And it paid off.  Serena loved the necklace, and promised to wear it under her uniform whenever she was sure Master Yuthura wouldn't be doing uniform checks.  "And since I know she only does them right before weekend passes are given out, I'll never get caught," she'd said.

To Galran, he said, "What did you do?"

Galran shrugged.  "We ran away from the academy.  Hid out in the Shyrack caves.  We found someone to take us offworld, but we had to get to the spaceport, and we couldn't just waltz through Dreshdae.  Master Uthar knew when we left that we weren't going to carry out his orders.  There were eight of us, and we figured out a way to get to the spaceport through the Shyrack caves, but we ran into a problem.  A great beast.  Bigger than a rancor, and twice as mean.  Not even the Force could stop it."  The Twi'lek's head-tails shivered.  "Others--Sith--came into the caves to hunt us.  Only that thing hunted them instead.  It hunts Force-sensitives.  We stayed alive so long only because we had mines set up all around our cave passage.  We fought shyrack, and tuk'ata and other Sith that stumbled on us, and then one day when our food stores were almost out, we met up with someone incredible."

Dustil's stomach clenched.  "Lemme guess.  A Jedi and a Republic soldier."

Galran's head-tails rippled with amusement.  "One who looked a lot like you.  They had a Mandalorian with them.  The Commander--your father--was the one who came up with the idea of planting mines along the pathway leading to the beast's lair.  And that little female--she moves like a Twi'lek in spite of her lack of lekku--she activated her stealth field and walked right up to that thing, laying mines as she went."  Here, Galran smiled.  "And when she had her mines laid and returned to our side of the chasm, she launched a thermal detonator at that beast--didn't even faze it!--but she started yelling, 'here, kitty kitty!' "  Galran shook his head.  "That crazy Mandalorian started laughing, and your father said, 'Time to rumble!'  And started blasting away with both barrels.  Her lightsaber flashed and the three of them looked for all the stars like they'd just been given an early birthday present ."  The Twi'lek stopped to chuckle.  

Dustil simply stared at him, astonished and terrified.  His dad--fighting a Terentatek!  Cold fear gripped him at the realization his dad could have been nothing more than a greasy smear on the floor of that cave, and yet he'd still managed to survive.

"Anyway," Galran continued.  "After that, your father and his Jedi and their Mandalorian friend told us that we could leave.  We were so relieved.  The Jedi woman--"

"Noura's her name," Dustil said to him.

Galran nodded.  "Noura told us that the Jedi would welcome us.  We couldn't believe her at first, but your father confirmed it.  He'd witnessed the Jedi welcome one who'd fallen to the Dark Side back into their arms.  Said she was back on board their ship and he'd comm her if we wanted proof.  That's how I came to be an ex-Sith working for the Republic.  It's not a bad deal," he said, raising an eyebrow.  "The Republic can use guys like us."

"Tell me more," Dustil said.  So began his short-lived career as a Republic Intelligence officer.  The duration of which ended up being exactly one mission, mostly successful.  Galran Me, or Jev Secura as he sometimes called himself, lurking around the Yavin settlement, made Dustil's Sith-senses twitch, especially when he spied another set of head-tails of the blue variety nearby.  If Jev had any ideas about Mission--

//_See, I have allowed you plenty of opportunity to daydream_.//  Master Nayal interrupted his thoughts.  //_And even indulge in petty emotions like jealousy, of which you have _no right_ to do_.//

Dustil blinked.  Man, he must have been out of it for the Master to have had control enough to lead him into the Archive library without even being aware of it.  And the Master's reprimand rubbed salt into the wound.  His jealousy drained in the face of shame at how little he thought of calling on Sith talents, even here in the midst of a Jedi stronghold.

//_Patience, my Apprentice.  It takes time to unlearn what you have been taught_.//

Masters Vrook and Vandar were arguing in that controlled, emotionless way of theirs.  "There's absolutely no proof of it," Master Vrook was saying.  "It's so obscure, it could mean anything."

"Exactly this, it could mean, as well," Master Vandar replied.

"Please share with us, if you have some insight the rest of us lack," Master Vrook said, the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone.  "We have not been the most insightful group when it comes to determining the will of the Force of late.  And with regards to Mandalorians, we seem to be particularly ignorant."

"Success we have had," Vandar countered.

Master Dorak looked from one to the other, and his eyes lit up when he spotted Dustil.  "Ah, young Apprentice.  And Master Nayal.  Perhaps we can prevail upon your expertise in interpretation."

Dustil bowed and the Master spoke.  "Masters, you have but to ask."

The Archivist activated the holocron he held in his hand.  The cube began to glow, radiating light along the lines of glyphs decorating its outer shell.  The light resolved itself into a flickering image.  A cloaked and hooded biped of a species Dustil had never seen before stretched out a holographic hand.  "The protectors of light and the caretakers of honor find themselves adversaries while an enemy waits in the shadows.  The sons of war and the guardians of order battle blindly through stubbornness and ignorance, and Chaos triumphs.  The Children of Light and Darkness are the tools of the Will of the Force.  At their whim, opponents shall be allies and order restored."

Dustil folded his hands inside his robes.  Master Nayal was quiet inside his head, deep in thought.

"It is this holocron that is partly responsible for our refusal to engage in the Mandalorian Wars," Master Vrook said, hanging his head.  "And we found ourselves, regrettably, the tools of our own destruction."

_That's the problem with listening to prophecies_, Dustil thought.  The Sith had been fond of their own prophecies--the Sith'ari, the perfect being to bring balance to the Force, the pronouncements of the old Sith Lords about a new Golden Age of the Sith--while it was entertaining to listen to the lyrical tales and fun to speculate on what they could mean, Dustil had always been of the slightly more practical sort--like how fast he could move up in the dueling ranks with his lightsaber, and how quickly he could master the Force-fear he seemed to have a natural talent for inspiring in the weak-minded.

//_And I'm sure that eagerness was rewarded well in the Academy_.//

He blinked guiltily and shifted his thoughts away from his days as a Sith.  _I'm sorry, Master_, he thought.  _Are you really sure you want an apprentice who can't really feel the regret he's supposed to feel over the things he's done?_

//_I am sure that you are my Apprentice.  Does an infant feel remorse over striking another infant when there is no mother to tell him no?  You will learn that regrets become more full-bodied and potent with age, young one.  What do you make of the holocron's warning?_//

Dustil gave a mental shrug.  _Sounds to me like it was right for the Jedi to avoid the Mandalorian Wars_.

//_Was it?_//

'_An enemy lurks in the shadows,' _he mentally quoted.  _Sounds like us--I mean, the Sith.  If the Order had all gone along with Revan and Malak, they'd probably all be Sith right now, and I'd still be back at the Academy._

//_So it would seem.  Yet do you not see the possibilities inherent in the interpretation?  Look not at simple cause and effect, my apprentice.  Expand your thoughts.  Open your mind and let the Force flow through you.  See its possibilities_.//

_Right here?_

//_Is there a better place, surrounded by Jedi Masters?_//

_Yeah_, he thought back, _a place where they're not all staring at me_.

//_I believe your phrase is _'Deal with it,'_ my apprentice_.//

It occurred to Dustil that he was becoming a bad influence on his Master.  He attempted to do as instructed, though, and guided his mind into a state where he could feel the flow of the Force.  It still overwhelmed him.  The Sith meditations were nothing like this--in the Academy, he'd been instructed to open his emotions to his own self, to find rage or hate or fury and let it lead him into the Force.  Maybe he didn't have enough rage, or maybe he hadn't mastered it the way he was supposed to, but he'd never experienced this mind-altering..._oneness _with creation.

He thought of the prophecy.  Sons of war and guardians of order--Mandalorians and Jedi.  Enemies.  But another enemy waited.

Wait a minute...Master Nayal's repeated admonitions to consult his dictionary must have finally sunk in.  Not enemies.  Adversaries.  Opponents.

The will of the Force.  If he stared hard enough, and for long enough at it without blinking, he could almost see it.  If the Sith could set up elaborate morality traps to turn Jedi to the Dark Side, and if the Jedi could pull and tug at the strings of fate to capture, mind-wipe, and revive the former Dark Lord for their own ends, the Force itself could be far more subtle in arranging events to suit its purposes.

What if the Order was right not to fight the Mandalorians, but wrong in their reasons why?  Or what if the prophecy referred to another time in the future, when they should have not fought the Mandalorians, and the Masters botched the interpretation in thinking they shouldn't have followed Revan and Malak?  Maybe if the Masters had made decisions for themselves instead of counting on moldy holocrons to tell them the future, Telos wouldn't have been blown up.  Anger came, quick and sudden and familiar.

//_Calm yourself, child.  Think you the Masters have not agonized over this very thing? Or that your planet's continued existence would not herald the coming of an even greater tragedy?_//

He forced the anger away, even as he wanted to hold onto it, use it to keep himself focused.  Instead, he opened his mouth and said out loud.  "The Children of Light and Dark.  Could that be Jedi who went to the Dark Side?  Like Revan and Bastila?"  He opened his eyes to find the Masters and Jolee Bindo staring at him.

Jolee lifted one grizzly eyebrow.  "Could be, m'boy, could be.  They both have their share of conflict in themselves.  But it also could have been Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma.  They were both Jedi of the light--at the start.  And the Mandalorians did ally with Exar Kun in the war."

Dustil stared at the holocron.  "So maybe, this prophecy doesn't have a thing to do with here and now."  He looked up at Jolee.  "Maybe we ought to not second-guess old prophecies so much and just look at the situation as it exists."

"Now you're talkin' my language," Jolee said with a smile.  "That Master of yours should be commended.  I know how hard it is to talk one iota of sense into a young mind.  Waste of years and of more spit than I can afford at my age."

"My apprentice speaks wisely, and from the wisdom of his own heart, rather than my influence," Master Nayal said.  "However, I remember that prophecy well.  It was from my time as a young knight in the Order.  My masters misinterpreted it as well.  Allow me to reveal a little bit about the will of the Force, and my part in it..."

* * *


	72. Adrift

Adrift

Revan

My earlier worry, in spite of Carth's amusement, did have me, well...worried.  Who knew what I'd been up to in the Outer Rim, and during my time as a Sith?  I'd been hoping the Order would, and set about to slicing the computer in the history classroom, hoping I could get a glimpse at the archives.  I discovered useless information, like the fact that a student named Revan had received good marks in languages and debate, but was noted as a slacker on subjects like astrogation and the healing arts.  "Not at full potential," was a phrase I saw quite a bit of.

But where I saw notations leading to detailed descriptions of other students' histories in the training order, the name of Revan carried none.  "File not found," was another phrase I became familiar with.  I searched for Malak's records, and came up blank.  I then tried Bandon's.  Once again, blank.  But another name caught my eye.  Ban, Yuthura, had a notation by her name for a disciplinary action well over a decade ago.  I snooped into the entry, curious as to the Twi'lek woman's history with the Jedi.  When I learned she'd gone to Dantooine after our conversations on Korriban, I feared the worst, but discovered later that she'd been the one to alert the Masters to the Sith's plans to attack.  Most of the students and Masters had been evacuated to safety before the Leviathan could wreak its havoc.

"I sense much anger in young Yuthura.  She seethes at injustice, and is quick to defend the weak.  I fear her hatred for the slavers that dominated her early life will lead her down a path to the Dark Side.  However, she has, thus far, displayed excellent judgement and restraint against the youthful exuberances that seem to plague this training facility in spite of our best efforts."  Here I smiled.  Master Vrook hadn't changed.  Maybe he'd even mellowed with age.  "Yet her good judgement is not perfect, nor is it entirely free of youthful exuberance.  Today I learned even a student as serious as Yuthura can succumb to the Twin Terrors.  I caught her loitering outside the droid garage, and when I attempted to investigate, I discovered a new low the students of this facility had reached.  I don't know where those two come up with such ideas at their tender age, or how they can convince even the wisest of students to abandon good sense, but for the details of our Miss Ban's unfortunate mar, please see entries under Disciplinary actions for Revan or Malak.  Since I am aware of the volume of material that encompasses, search for the file pertaining to 'Garage Droid Gladiatorial Championships.' "

I held a hand over my mouth, my lip suddenly trembling.  Since I knew that my files, and those of Malak's had been restricted or deleted, I searched for the Garage Droid entry, and discovered a ring of students had been involved in my youthful escapade.  From there, I learned that beyond the nuts and bolts, I'd been a disciplinary nightmare.  And never did the name Revan come up without the name Malak right beside it.

A sudden wave of sadness and ache swept over me.  I'd led Malak down a dark path, and gave him the ultimate mercy on the Star Forge because of it.  I think I've cried my tears over that.  But I haven't yet mourned the fact that before I led him to darkness, I led him into trouble.  The kind of trouble that two close friends are supposed to be able to laugh about fifty years later, and remind each other about when their children get into similar trouble.  My throat caught on a strangled sob, because I didn't know if it would be better or worse to have those memories back.

Mission found me hunkered down at the terminal, fat tears dripping off the end of my nose to plop onto the readout screen.  "Hey there," she said gently.

I rubbed my eyes.  "Hey yourself."

She looked from my face to the terminal and back again.  Understanding dawned in her eyes.  "Oh, hey," she said, putting an arm around me.

I leaned my head on her shoulder, ashamed at being the one needing the shoulder, but unable to refuse the comfort she gave freely.  

After a long minute, she patted my shoulder and said, "Remembering hurts, but sometimes you gotta do it, you know?"

I sighed, and let the sadness pass.  I'd have plenty of time to mourn my lack of memories--the rest of my life, potentially.  But I couldn't forget the present while I wallowed in the past.  "New job for you, Blue," I said.  "I need you to tell me everything you know about Mandalorians.  And then I need you to find out more."

Mission and I spent a long afternoon in study, and I learned more about Mandalorians than I ever really wanted to know.  Up to, and including, their tastes in cuisine.  I was wrinkling my nose at some of the unappetizing-sounding combinations.  "I think I get why they're always invading other worlds.  They're looking for something better to eat."

"It's not so bad if you're used to it," she said.  "Or so I'm told."

I rubbed my eyes and leaned back.

"Hey Noura?" Mission said.

"Yeah?" I said, lowering my hands from my face to look at her.  She wore an intent frown and was quiet for so long, I spoke again.  "Mission?"

She let out a long sigh.  "I know you're probably the wrong person to ask, but...why do you think people want to be famous?  Like holovid stars?"

I shrugged.  "Maybe money.  Maybe attention."

"You'd think they'd rather do something, I dunno, worthwhile."

I looked at her carefullly, feeling around in the Force for the right words.  It was obviously something that bothered her.  Maybe I needed to go find that Devaronian and have a talk with him.  "I think...that somebody like a holovid star could do worthwhile things.  They give people hope, I guess."

"Hmm," she said, though she didn't sound convinced.  "I guess they do.  People stopped fighting in the LowCity long enough to watch Vod Krakenslayer.  I guess anything's possible."  

We separated after that, Mission to find Big Z and scavenge for snacks, and me to wander the halls of the Enclave and think.

That evening I spent a lot of time with Juhani and Mission talking about Mandalorians.  Juhani told me about Quatra's insistence that she learn about her peoples' enemies.

"I bet she never expected the information to come in handy in a way like this, eh?" I said to her.

Juhani laughed.  "I would not be surprised if she did.  In fact, I believe she would be pleased to discover my knowledge being put to use for something other than war."

I raised my eyebrows.  "With Canderous, everything goes back to battle sooner or later."

"It's still kind of romantic," Mission said.

"Romantic?" Juhani echoed her, disbelief in her tone.  "While I understand the demands his culture places on him, I still find it demeaning on Bastila's behalf."

"Huh," Mission said.

"You have a point," I said to Juhani.  "But Bastila's really good at not confronting issues until they're forced on her.  In his own way, that's what Canderous did."  I shrugged.  "Besides, I know it's unrealistic, but it's horribly romantic in a holovid sort of way."  I paused, staring off into the setting sun coming through the windscreen of our room.  "I wonder if I always had a goofy romantic streak.  I can't imagine it'd be a good thing for a Sith Lord to have."

"Not to mention," Mission pointed out, "that the Jawless Wonder would be your most likely target.  Eww, eww, eww."

"Don't call him that," I said, more sharply than I intended.

"I'm sorry," Mission said meekly.

I sighed.  Most of my thoughts about Malak had been less than charitable, but after what I discovered this morning, I had a sense of Malak the person that was different than Malak the Sith Lord.  I'd been able to mourn the failure to redeem the Sith Lord, but not the loss of my friend.  "It's not you, Mission.  I--I guess this morning I learned that Sith Lords are people, too.  I don't remember it, but--Malak was my friend before he was my apprentice.  That must have meant something.  If I felt anything for him even close to what I feel for you guys and the rest of our crew, I--I guess I'll always feel that loss.  That's why I have to figure out some way to make sure that Canderous and Bastila aren't hurt by this."

Juhani patted my shoulder.  "Do not assume that your will is the will of the Force."  She repeated her earlier warning.

"Will of the Force be damned," I said crossly.  "I've seen the way he looks at her, and she--she's so confused and it's all thanks to that damn Council."

Juhani reached towards me and I felt a wave of calming energy from her.  "I know that your bond with her is not an easy burden to bear, especially when one of you is suffering.  But do not discount the lessons she will learn through her turmoil."

I nodded.  "It's the part of me that wants to fix everything, and make everyone happy."  We sat in silence, the three of us, for a while, while I pondered my place as everyone's emotional maintenance droid.  In some ways, I hadn't done too badly.  But in others, I thought I knew more than I did.  No wonder the Masters constantly shook their heads and muttered about the arrogance of stupid padawans.  In the case of my friends, I could be incredibly wise, and monumentally obtuse at the same time.  I needed them, I leaned on them.  But I had to let them be who they were, instead of making them fit my idea of who they should be.

After a long period of silence the sun finally gave up the ghost.  The stars were beginning to come out, glimmering on the horizon, and I stretched out my senses to feel a lone presence outside the shelter walls of the enclave.  "Don't you have somewhere else you'd rather be?"

She looked at me questioningly.  My smile was bittersweet.  "She's out there," I said.  

"How did you--"  Her golden eyes shimmered.  "This is why the Masters caution us against losing our hearts.  I will not abandon you, Noura."

I stroked her hand.  "Juhani, you're not my slave.  Don't act like one.  Go spend the night with Belaya, already.  At least one of us should have fun."  My own would-be lover still had not returned from whatever hijinks he was committing on behalf of Canderous.

"I--" she said hesitantly.

I hardened my tone.  "Juhani, do I have to order you to go be with your girlfriend?  Honestly.  Go, before I drag you there myself.  I'm fighting the Council over my relationship with Carth.  Hell, I'm going to bat for Bastila with them, and I'm not even sure what she's going to do about Canderous.  How could you think I'd for one minute deny you the chance at love, too?"

"It is not so simple as that," she said sharply.

I drew back, sensing that her anger hid hurt and turmoil.  I bit my lip and stared evenly back into her golden gaze.  "In the long run, probably not," I said.  "But a single night is pretty black and white."

Mission piped up.  "You'll only make us feel guilty if you stay."

Juhani's whiskers twitched.  "You cannot order people into happy endings according to your whim, Revan."

"No, I can't," I said bluntly.  "I'm trusting you to make your own happy ending."  I pointed to the door.  "She's waiting for you.  Go find some peace with her."

"Yeah, Juhani," Mission said.  "Cause if you don't, Noura'll never shut up about it."

The Cathar woman shook her head resignedly.  "You remake the world to your whim, Noura.  And the world goes along with you.  I do not know why."

I opened the door and she went through.  I grinned.  "Maybe it's because I'm so damn right all the time.  We'll find you if we need you."

Her steps, as she left, were light.  Much lighter than they had been of late.

Mission pulled out a datapad and plugged it into an access socket.  I leaned back on my bunk and stared at my own datapad.  I was going to have to fight Canderous and really give him a run for his money.  By tradition, bridal battles were forbidden to end in death--I guess even Mandalorians don't deal well with wedding-funeral combinations.  But a thrown fight was a worse insult than death.  And there seemed to be a complicated and intricate understanding of clan loyalties, alliances, renunciations of old feuds, but adoptions of new ones, reorganizations of command hierarchies and--

"Ugh," Mission said.

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Blue," I said back.

"No," she said and handed me her datapad.  "This."

I looked at the article she had up on the screen.  It was a news ticker from the sector HoloNet, and the headline screamed, "Star Forge Scandal!"

"Oh no," I muttered.  The more I read, the more curse words leapt to my lips.  

"The breaking news yesterday that shocked the sector--namely, the kidnap of the Jedi Bastila Shan, has been revealed to have connections into a scandal that rocks the very foundations of the Republic and the Jedi Order.  Shan's kidnapper has been identified as a Mandalorian warrior often seen in the employ of various high-ranking members of the Exchange.  Sources close to the scene have also identified the kidnapper as a key player in the Battle of the Star Forge.    

"As has been reported here previously, the identities of many of the so-called 'Heroes of the Star Forge' have been called into question lately.  Specifically, the Jedi Noura Den Hades, of whom little information has been found prior to her induction into the Jedi Order several months ago.  Expert military analysts have drawn corellations between the techniques used by Den Hades and her crew to conquer the Star Forge, and techniques used by the Jedi Revan in the war with the Mandalorians four years ago.  Spokespersons for the Jedi Order have refused comment, claiming only that 'any similarities between the Jedi Noura and the Jedi Revan are pure conjecture.'

"Bastila Shan's own role in the battle's outcome remains unclear even after weeks of information analysis.  Shan, best known for the Jedi ability of Battle Meditation, has been compared to the Jedi Nomi Sunrider, who battled in the war of Exar Kun over forty years ago.  Yet expert analysis has demonstrated that Republic forces clearly did not have the benefit of Shan's talents for the duration of the battle, resulting in heavy casualties until Admiral Dodonna's triumphant exploitation of a break in Sith formations.  The question begs to be asked--if Shan was not working with the Republic, was she working against them?

"In addition to the mystery surrounding Shan, the press has discovered that Carth Onasi, the pilot of the Ebon Hawk, while a longtime soldier in good standing to the Republic, has the distinction of having been the right-hand man to none other than Saul Karath, directly prior to the defection of the traitorous admiral and the majority of the men under his command.  Reports from witnesses at the scene of the Star Forge battle have also previously claimed sight of Darth Revan on board the Star Forge.  Czerka Corporation representatives have identified the Wookiee Zaalbar as the chief instigator in the Wookiee uprising on Kashyyyk a few months back, which resulted in the near-100% casualty rate suffered by Czerka corporation personnel on that planet."

I set the datapad down, nervous and sick to my stomach, and unable to read any more.  I had no history, but the rest of my crew did, and the newshounds were digging it up and dragging it through the mud.  "So much for cheering crowds, eh?" I said.

Mission took the datapad back.  "You should see what else I found on the non-mainstream Net channels.  Take a look at some of this stuff I decrypted.  Isn't it awfully interesting that no fewer than four independent frigates have altered their course for this system in the past few days?"

I shrugged.  "Scandal junkies, I guess.  Rubberneckers."

"Huh-uh."  She shook her head and her head-tails whipped back and forth.  "Each one either originated or transferred registry to Concord Dawn, Kirit Starn, the Malachor system.  Heck, there's even one registered to Ordo!"

"You mean--" I frowned, "--Canderous's homeworld?"  

"Yep," Mission said.  "And the Mandalorian homeworld, Concord Dawn.  Not many people know where it actually is.  You were supposedly on the hunt for it when you and Malak buried the needle on the Dark Side."

I searched through my memories for something--anything that would strike me as even remotely familiar.  All I could manage was Canderous's tale of how Revan's forces gathered the remaining Mandalorian warriors and made them watch as she defeated Mandalore.  Then she destroyed their armor, weapons, and basilisks and left them with nothing.

While I couldn't think of the tale in first person--I can't remember it, and it seems like something that happened to somebody else, I couldn't help also thinking, _yeah, that sounds just vindictive enough that I'd do it_.  But Canderous never said that Revan had come to the Mandalorian homeworld.  The final battle had been above Malachor V.

My futile search for memories that were no longer there ended with a respectful knock at the door.  An apprentice stood outside the door.  "Ma'am, the Council calls.  You and your companions are expected."

I glanced back at Mission, who raised her eyebrows and tossed the datapad on the bed.  "Sure thing," she said.

We followed the apprentice into the Council chambers.  Masters Vrook and Vandar waited for us.  Jolee stood off to one side, along with Dustil.  Beside me, Mission stiffened again.  We were going to have to work on her reaction to that kid.  Carth wasn't present, and that started to worry me.

Master Vrook spoke.  "We have discussed the situation of Bastila's abduction amongst ourselves.  Now we'd like to know if you have anything further to add."

I nodded my head.  "I think the problem is growing," I said.  "At the reception, rumors of Revan were surfacing.  I thought they were idle speculation."  I looked down, keenly aware of my lack of political savvy.  "But it looks like rumors of Bastila's fall have come to light as well."  I told them about the vandalism to her quarters.  Simply remembering the hateful splashes of red paint sent a frisson of fear through me.  "And we just read on HoloNet that some of the news sources are starting to speculate along those lines."

Vandar nodded.  "Try her publically, we did not.  To the people, absent is justice."  He looked up at me.

Doubt entered my mind.  I stood here in this very room two mornings ago, and told them they couldn't have Bastila back.  I believed I had a better way of helping her cope with her fall.  I still thought I was right, but now I wondered if I had indeed done the right thing.  By trying to help her heal, had I condemned her in the eyes of the rest of the galaxy?  I sank down on one of the benches lining the walls.  In the quest for the Star Forge, my gambles had paid off.  I followed my nose and it led me true, because it was pointed the same way as the will of the Force.  Had I lost my way again, and so quickly?

Vandar approached me.  "Learn, you will, that not simply a battle tactic, is strategy."  His little muppet mouth turned up in a faint smile.

"It's all in the timing, kid," Jolee said.

I glared at him.  "Why didn't you say something, old man, if you knew I was about to galactically screw the Kath pooch?  Watching me fall on my face is one thing, but when it affects others--"

"It _always _affects others," Jolee said sharply.  

I clamped my mouth shut at his harsh tone, and sighed.  "I have to fix things," I said.  I glanced not at Vandar, who had been gentle to me in all my training, but to Vrook, who had never pulled his punches.  "Don't I?" I asked.  "Or will I only make things worse?"

Vrook peered at me through narrowed eyes.  "You care too much," he said.  "It's both your greatest asset, and your greatest weakness."  His eyes turned sad.  "That has always been the case with you, Revan."

A dizzying sense of vertigo swept over me, and for a second, I chased the faintest ghost of a memory of standing before Vrook before, much younger, and hearing those same words.  I reached out desperately to grasp the memory, but it slipped through my fingers, leaving nothing more than an ache in my chest and uncertainty in my heart.

"I guess this means Bastila ought to return to the Order," Mission said.  

I nodded.  Bastila and I still didn't get along like wildfire, but I hated the thought of her worrying herself away within the strict confines of the Enclave.  "We should go and fetch her, then."

Master Vrook shook his head.  "The Council will not be interfering in this," he said.

Shock rippled through me.  "But--the Code--you said it yourself.  Jedi are forbidden to love.  There is no emotion."

"Fine, then," Jolee snapped.  "Noura, fall out of love with Carth."

I stared at him blankly.

"Go on--do it.  Right now.  Time's a-wasting."  He tapped his foot impatiently.

I still gaped, unsure of what he meant or where he was going.  I couldn't just fall out of--_oh_.  "I see," I said.  "So are you saying the Code is a lie?"

"I don't know whether to blame the students for being stupid or the teachers for being out of touch," Jolee muttered.  "Feh," he said.  "You want to know about the code?  Think.  Use your whole brain this time.  It's that lump a meter above your ass.  You can be in love and not let passions rule your actions.  You know that.  I've seen you do it."

"But Bastila hasn't--"

"Bastila won't be able to hide behind the Council's will on this one.  If you ask me, Canderous'll do her good."

Mission snickered.  I thought I might have heard another snicker come from Dustil's direction, but I couldn't be sure.  And I thought I was the master of the double entendre.  Even I held my tongue around the Council.

Jolee continued over the brief commotion.  "If she doesn't want to be married to Canderous, she's going to have to get out of it on her own.  And if she does, then she'll have to figure out how to make it work."

* * *


	73. Hunter's Home

Hunter's Home

Bastila

I awoke alone.  I remember falling asleep on the uncomfortable lounge in the common room, yet I awoke alone in the large bed.  I was honestly surprised my sleep had been so peaceful.  Nightmares--of my fall, of my failure as a Jedi--plagued me ever since the Star Forge, save for those nights I exhausted myself with Canderous.  

I am a coward for thinking it, but I was glad that Canderous's hunt kept him busy away from me.  The times we were together, he had been--playful was the only way I could describe it.  I didn't know how to react to Canderous in a playful mood and it troubled me deeply.  Even more disturbing was the gentleness with which he treated me.  On the _Stella Arcos_, during our first encounter, I made it clear that he was not to treat me gently.  I wanted coarseness and barely-leashed violence--the dark flame that burned inside me demanded nothing else.  It was shame that drove me to him in that way, yet he chose to interpret that as strength in me.

I rummaged in the provisions, but all we had were several containers of fleshy orange--here, I made a face, remembering the spa all too well--borba melon.  No matter, a fast might do me some good.  Appetites, I have learned, go hand in hand, and when one is sated, the calls of the others become more insistent.  I contented myself with exploring the compound.

I'm not sure why I dressed the first carcass Canderous brought me.  Perhaps because my solitude allowed me to touch memories I believed were long-forgotten.  My mother had often dressed the animals my father brought back from a hunting trip.  Since he preferred to work alone, Mother acted as his assistant.  And from an early age, he had encouraged me to help as much as I could.  I had nothing else to do...the least I could do was skin the thing.  The simple tasks of a hunter's apprentice returned to me, and I found a quiet serenity in a manual task that would have been completely foreign in my life as a Jedi.  I dressed another carcass this day, the motions coming more easily after practice.

Ambassador Aktil, the owner of the lodge, was a Melodie from Yavin 8, and thus very attached to water.  In addition to the sonic 'fresher, she possessed impeccable taste in water facilities.  For the second time in as many days, I enjoyed the indulgent pleasure of an actual water bath, cut short once again by his presence.  At least this time, the noise of the speeder outside allowed me time to hastily dry off and dress before he walked in the front door.

It did not give me time to put my hair up, though, and if I had hoped he'd not notice that, my hope was dashed.  He put his fingers up to my temples, touched my braids and smiled his approval.  "Today's hunt was good," he said.  The sharp odors of blood and animal and sweat swirled around him in a cloud.  

I wrinkled my nose.  "You stink," I said bluntly.

"You don't," he retorted, pulling me closer to him by the braids which I vow I will cut off as soon as I find a handy blade.  He inhaled deeply, taking in my scent the way a predator scented prey.  "I spent all day trying to compose a poem for you, and all I could come up with was another verse of 'The Starship Venus.*'  I can sing it if you like?"

Even I, in my sheltered youth, had not escaped the bawdy song whose tune worked its way into the mind and remained there, to resurface at inopportune times all through my apprentice training.  I blushed fiercely and held up a hand.  "Please don't," I said.  "I fear the effect may be too devastating for me to handle."

"Especially with me smelling the way I do."  He chuckled.  "You did an excellent job with the pelts, by the way."

A blush of a different sort sent warmth through me.  "My father was a hunter," I said by way of explanation.  An unexpected stab of sadness punctured my heart.  "He--he'd hoped I'd follow in his footsteps one day.  I became a Jedi instead."

He paused in his path towards the 'fresher and turned to me, one eyebrow raised.  "Just a different sort of hunter, don't you think?"

My mouth dropped open and I was left standing in the breeze from his passing, and thinking that the scents of animal and sweat weren't as singularly unpleasant as I'd first thought.  Grateful that no one was present to see me do it, I flounced over to the couch and sat down in a huff.  I stared at the woven-fiber rugs gracing the floor, trying to lose myself in the geometric patterns.

The sound of the door opening brought my attention up.  He emerged from the 'fresher, a towel wrapped around his lean hips, and he caught me staring.  "Like what you see?"  He grinned then, a wide and unrepentant expression that showed the space in between his front teeth.  The effect was quite--roguish, and I didn't know what to make of it.  

I frowned severely.  I preferred him in the foulest of tempers, where I knew exactly how to deal with him.  Not clean and damp and nearly naked--_of course I like what I see_, I thought crossly.  _I simply have little idea why_.  Where did the feelings come from?  How did they invade me so...insidiously.  I rose from the couch and sought refuge in the kitchen.  

Canderous, now dressed, thankfully, joined me there and I realized my tactical error.  The kitchen was much smaller, rendering his presence that much larger.

Suddenly gripped with the powerful need to understand, I voiced the question.  "Why?"  I covered my nervousness with the task of getting a glass of water.

"Why what?"  He opened the refrigeration unit and removed an opaque bottle.  With a sharp yank, he cracked the hydraulic pressure stopper, and a low hiss escaped the bottle.

I drank my own water to disguise the confusion fluttering through me.  "Why do you want to marry me?"  I sat in one of the bent-wood chairs and looked up at him.  He took up a familiar, cross-armed position leaning against the counter, the same pose he habitually assumed aboard the Ebon Hawk.  His shirt strained across his biceps and my eyes were drawn repeatedly to the tattoo that marked him as the last of a dying breed.  Beside him, the open bottle released visible vapors that dissipated into the air in slow, lazy curls.

When I finally met his eyes, they were steady and held no deception.  "I have told you--you're a strong woman, a good warrior, and we'll make powerful children."

In the jungle, he had told me I was strong, and those words pulled me back from a line of desperation I nearly crossed.  But I did not want to hear about myself.  I knew my shortcomings, and it was my eternal duty to ensure others were warned about them as well.  "Not that," I said.  "Why even consider something as complicated as marriage?"

The aroma of the bottle's contents reached my nostrils.  It was a familiar scent, heavily alcoholic, yet heady in its sweet and tartness.  Canderous held it out to me.  "Tarisian ale.  Best drunk straight out of the bottle.  Would you like some?"

I shook my head quickly.  "No, thank you."  Memories of--unpleasantness automatically rose in me.  "When I was captured by the swoop gang, the guard stationed at my cage drank quite a bit of it." I closed my eyes and fought the memory.  "The neural collar prevented me from moving away when he breathed in my face.  I think of Black Vulkar cowards and imprisonment."

Canderous pulled the bottle back.  "Taris was a pit of a world," he siad slowly.  "But when I drink its ale,"--he paused to do so--"I taste the way Tarisians had a good time.  Both the Upper City and the Lower City people could party with a mania that rivaled a good case of battle frenzy.  As if they knew for the last hundred years that their planet's been heading for destruction, and they were determined to go out as strongly as they could."

"All that from a bottle of ale?" I could not conceal the amazement in my voice.  Not from the observation itself--after Noura and Carth freed me, the night we met Canderous, in fact, I had sensed the same desperate undercurrent in the Upper City cantina where he waited for us.  I had simply figured it for the presence of the Sith.

"Taste," he said.  I shook my head.  He pushed away from the counter and moved next to me.  "Close your eyes and taste."

He tilted the bottle towards me.  It meant more to him than it did to me--perhaps because he had made a home for himself for a time on Taris--so I acquiesced and reached for it.  He shook his head.  "Let me.  Close your eyes."

Curiosity at where he planned to go with this overruled my need to be difficult.  "Very well."  I closed my eyes and reached for the bottle again.

I jumped the slightest bit when his hand slid into my hair and held the back of my head steady.  One of his fingers caressed the scars at the back of my neck and I shivered.  No one else but Canderous had ever touched them, or even knew they were there.  Not even Revan.  I was still not ready to share a single detail of my capture and fall to the Sith with anyone else, perhaps I never would be.  I cannot even say what possessed me to tell Canderous the story of those scars in the first place.

The bottle touched my lips.  The sharp-sweet smell of the brew rose from it.  "Tilt your head back," he said.  I did as instructed and he tipped the bottle slightly.  The ale flooded my mouth and I swallowed reflexively.  It burned all the way down and a peppery aftertaste danced on my tongue.

With my eyes closed I was more aware of the feel of his hand caressing my scalp, and the subtler flavors of the ale that followed the first burning slide down my throat.  Tart followed sweet, a sharp reminder that on Taris, beauty and placidity hid danger and poison.  The Upper City was built on prejudice and rested on a foundation of crime and slavery.

As I swallowed, I realized I had been a part of that, if only briefly.  Dressed like a half-dead joygirl and offered up as a slave to the fastest swoop bike rider.  I, too, was more dangerous than I appeared.  The thought brought me a small measure of satisfaction.

"Can you taste it?" he asked softly.  His fingers teased my scalp and thoughts of Taris fled me.  If I had known drinking could be so--sensual, I'd have avoided it with more zeal.  Or taken it up long before now.  I licked my lips, suddenly dry-mouthed in spite of the ale.  "Yes," I whispered.

It dawned on me then.  I was being--seduced.  My eyes snapped open.  "You haven't answered my question," I said, a little peeved.  How could I have been so easily led?  _Maybe because you wanted to go_, an insidious little voice answered me.

His fingers traced soothing patterns through my hair.  I wished I had the strength to pull away.  But at least I could remain firm in my resolve to get an answer.  "We both know the nature of our--liaisons never approached the permanent."  Or even the respectful, I admitted to myself.

His fingers moved down to my nape to massage the twin souvenirs of my fall.  He continues to baffle me.  Anyone else would be revolted by the constant reminder of the torture I suffered at the hands of Malak.   I myself could not stand to think of that time.  Only in dreams did it escape to haunt me.

When he didn't answer, I demanded one.  "What changed?"

I heard him sigh behind me, and his fingers relaxed.  His hand didn't leave my scalp, but the one holding the bottle in front of me rose and I heard him drink.  "Revan," he said abruptly, setting the bottle back down on the table in front of me.  "Blame her."

"I have, for a number of things," I said.  "But I would have sensed if she had prior knowledge of your intentions."

"No, she didn't plan this with me," he said.  "You saw how mad she was in the bathhouse.  It's her fault in the first place, though.  She changes people.  She changed me."

"Ah, yes.  Revan's legendary effect on people."

"Don't sound so petulant.  She can't help it."

I folded my arms.  "And what is her part in all this, then?"

His fingers stopped their caress of my scar and instead moved down to my neck.  "I'm still trying to puzzle out exactly how she did it," he said.

"The best criminals never reveal their secrets," I said dryly.

"She kept pestering me to tell her war stories," he said.

I allowed myself a small smile.  "I know," I said.  "I worried constantly that your bloodthirsty tales would lead her down the path of the dark side."

He snorted.  "Nobody leads that woman anywhere she doesn't already have plans to go.  Anyway, maybe it was the act of telling my stories, or maybe it was the duel with Jagi--you'd been captured by that point--I started thinking about my past."

His hand moved down my shoulder and I reached up and put my own hand over his.  I heard him drink again.  "I--my life's been spent in battles, in glory."  His voice grew proud.  "I've conquered worlds and defeated armies, and lived to do it over and over again."  He heaved another great sigh and his tone softened again.  "But telling her--I never realized it, but she was the first one to hear my tales since Revan defeated my people."

I traced the rough lines of his knuckles with a fingertip.  I kept my eyes closed for the small peace that darkness provided.   "You never told your tales to any of your employers?"

He snorted.  "I had no need.  My reputation as a Mandalorian got me work, and a warrior doesn't tell his tales for material gain."

"Then why does he tell them?" I asked softly.

"He tells them to be remembered.  He tells his stories to other warriors, who share those stories with their clan--" he broke off abruptly and I heard the bottle tip back again.

This time I reached up for the bottle myself.  But instead of handing it to me, he put the ale to my lips and tipped the bottle back.  Once again, the intimacy of the situation struck me almost physically.  I strove for a little equilibrium.

He seemed not to notice my unbalance, though I suspected he was quite aware of it.  "I guess telling her my tales made me realize that I had no one else to listen to them."  He said the words matter-of-factly, and the lack of emotion in them brought an excess of emotion out in me.

"But I fail to understand--why me?  Why not--why not Revan?" Was that--_jealousy _that clenched my stomach?

"Revan is a fine woman and a great warrior in her own right," he said.  I couldn't stop myself from tensing ever so slightly.  Canderous's fingers tightened on my shoulder.  "But her fire burns differently than yours."

I felt him lean down then, and his nearness scattered my senses.  He pressed his lips against those thrice-damned scars on the back of my neck, and I felt his breath hot on my nape.  He whispered into my ear then.  "It's your fire that burns in my blood."

His words were fire themselves, sending awareness and liquid heat through my own veins.  He pulled his hand out from under mine and set the bottle on the table.  "Goodnight, Bastila," he said, and walked out into the common room, leaving me alone with Tarisian ale and desire burning holes in my stomach.

* * *


	74. Maneuvers

A/N:  Really.  Seriously.  I swear this is wrapping up.  Eventually.  [Force Persuade] This fic is coming to an end eventually.  The author promises. [/Force Persuade].  Sorry for the update delay (for those of you still tuned in), but this was a pretty meaty section.  I do hope you enjoy.  Special thanks to Aroseb Grim for the beta.

Reviewers wall of fame: Thanks to veteran reviewers Shadow39, Nat2, Eye-of-the-Storm1, for sticking with me.  Winterfox--you humble me.  Welcome to first time reviewers Feza's twin, Cassie Morgan, LeoEyes, Anonymous-cat, and daeana.  Thanks a bunch for your comments.  I read everyone's comments as soon as I get the notice from the bot, and I treasure them.  I'm running out of analogies to keep begging for reviews, but...Reviews are the coffee that fuels this fanfic writer/javahound.  Lack of them causes withdrawal symptoms.  Reviewers are my Starbucks baristas. :)

Maneuvers

Carth

Ambassador Aktil received me in her private office.  I saluted her in military fashion, feeling more than a little disoriented to be addressing so deferentially someone who looked to be barely Mission's age.  She rose and extended her hand, her child-woman voice musical.  "I received a comm from your Mandalorian brother," she said.  "His hunting, at least, is successful.  I am glad of it."

I winced.  I knew Bastila could be stubborn and arrogant.  Canderous redefined the terms himself.  I hoped for the ambassador's sake they left the lodge in one piece.  "Me, too," I said.  It would be a horrible waste of a lot of my money if Canderous and Bastila ended up enemies.  Not to mention that two people I'd come to care a lot about would be miserable.

"Now is when I call in my favor from you," she said.  "You were at the Star Forge, correct?"

I nodded, searching her expression for some hint of her camp.  I knew what she was going to ask, and I wanted to give her the answer she wanted.  But in spite of her tender age, Varenna Aktil was a politician and so was her Pazaak face.  "I was at the Star Forge," I said.

She nodded.  "Given the events of the past half-century, you understand that the peoples of the Yavin system are extremely wary of Sith presences in our immediate vicinity.  Won't you sit down?"  She returned to behind her desk and I waited until she'd arranged herself in her chair before sitting down myself.  She waited, simply gazing at me with a measured expression.

I tensed, knowing what she was going to ask.  Is Noura Den Hades now, or has she ever been, a Dark Lord of the Sith?  I braced myself and focused my mind.  Noura Den Hades was never the Dark Lord.  Revan was, sure.  But Noura was the product of the Order's collective imaginations.  I could safely say that there'd never been a Darth Noura.

"I want you to tell me if I should be worried that four cruisers of Mandalorian origin have just entered the system, on a heading perilously close to my vacation home and your friends."

"What?" I blurted out loud.  That was unexpected.  "M-mandalorians?"  Unbidden images of my tour of duty along the Outer Rim returned.  Canderous was an honorable bastard, but I'd come to think of him as the exception to the rule as far as Mandalorians were concerned.

"Mandalorians," she said.  "Half a century ago, right here on this planet, Exar Kun defeated their leader and claimed the loyalty of the Sons of Mandalore.  They razed the entire sector."  She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair.  "Five years ago, the Jedi Revan defeated Mandalore, yet did not herself claim the title of Mandalore."  

Dustil had said Noura was Canderous's de facto leader the other night.  I hadn't really registered it.  I thought he was just talking about Canderous, and his personal loyalty to her.  I hadn't even considered there might be other Mandalorians out there who weren't thuggish brutes like the ones we'd encountered on Dantooine and Kashyyyk.  Or who may be thuggish brutes just looking for a banner under which to go to war again.  My head began to pound.  When I started this, I never thought it'd turn into an intergalactic incident.

"It is also," the ambassador said, her teenager's voice sounding out of place with the sophisticated verbal parlay coming out of her mouth, "not difficult to believe that the charming lady on your arm a few nights ago is so much more than an overaged Padawan lucky enough to find herself in the company of the likes of yourself and Bastila Shan."  In a sudden move, she straightened from her indolent slouch and leaned forward.

I've been too long out of the whole make-nice diplomatic parts of the Republic.  I wasn't prepared for her strike when it came.  "I am a politician, and well aware of the usefulness of turning an enemy to your cause.  But the average cit wants justice.  And there's no more satisfying justice to a public cheated out of it than mob justice."  She held up a datacard.  "The Ebon Hawk made no secrets about its destination coordinates.  I've had eight communiques this morning alone, from various acquaintances suddenly interested in renewing old friendships with a trip to my vacation house.  I am not fool enough to believe that the Jedi Order's choice to house itself in my system is the reason for that, no matter what the prettily-worded messages say.  So I suggest you put that tactical mind to yours to work dreaming of a plan to fast-talk yourselves out of a full-scale riot."

"I'm sorry," I said, sincerely meaning it.  "I never meant to involve you in something this big."

She waved a hand.  "I knew what I was getting into when I offered your friend the use of my lodge.  For a Mandalorian, he's a good man."  She sighed.  "I would like to see peace in the galaxy.  Sometimes peace comes not through unifying governments, but through unifying people."

She touched a panel set into her desk and the door opened behind me.  "My personal craft will be waiting for your party tomorrow.  And let me give you a bit of advice--"  Her violet eyes bored into mine and I realized that her tender age didn't mean a damn thing--the way she'd spent her short life gave her more than enough experience to take on an old Republic soldier with simple dreams and a direct way of thinking.  "--real victory comes to those who aren't afraid to exploit every angle of a situation.  Your lady friend knew that in her other life.  I hope she knows it now, too.  See that your Mandalorian wins his bride."

I rose and saluted her in farewell, acknowledging the superior tactician.  "He will," I said.

"Good," she replied briskly.  "I destroy so many romanticized notions in my line of work that it's nice to see one actually play out once in a while."

I found HK-47 and Zaalbar waiting for me outside the ambassador's office.  

"HK!  What are you doing here?  Is Noura okay?"  Last I'd seen of the gleefully homicidal bucket of bolts, he'd been safely ensconced in the Jedi Enclave, keeping watch over her.

"Statement: I am executing orders placed on me by my master, which you are not.  Meatbag."

He actually expended extra energy simply to call me a meatbag.  That droid really needed a hobby.  "What orders?  Is she all right?"

HK's yellow eyes brightened and dimmed as he tilted his head.  "Quote," his voice suddenly became Noura's husky feminine contralto.  " 'HK, go dig up my Wookiee and my boyfriend.  We've got plans to make and I'm not getting any younger.' "

Hearing Noura refer to me as her "boyfriend" was disturbing enough, given our respective ages.  But hearing her do so out of HK-47's vocalbox made me want to enter therapy.  Immediately.  I shuddered and turned to Zaalbar.  "Where have you been?" I asked.

Zaalbar shook his head and warbled.  

HK replied.  "Translation: The Republic's invitation of membership to Kashyyyk has prompted sudden interest in Wookiee culture."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" I asked Zaalbar.

The big furry biped shrugged and growled a response.

"Translation: He feels that attempting to explain the finer points of Wookiee culture to outsiders is much like describing Tatooine to a blind and deaf Selkath."

I raised my eyebrows.  "As long as you're keeping a positive attitude about it, then."

Zaalbar chuffed.

"Translation: He states that he is no diplomat.  He does not trust the intentions of those suddenly interested in his people and homeworld."

I reached up and patted Zaalbar's large and hairy shoulder.  "Give it time, Big Z, and give them a chance.  Not everybody in the galaxy is like Czerka."  Given the romantic streaks I'd been discovering in the unlikeliest of people lately, I wasn't about to completely rule out unexpected pleasant surprises.

We left the Ambassador's office and I turned left, aiming for the local constable's office. 

"Statement: The Jedi Enclave and the master are this way, meatbag."

"Statement," I retorted.  "I'm going this way.  There's still the small matter of figuring out who tried to kill your master a few days ago.  I'm not going to let that rest."  

Zaalbar warbled.  

"Translation: The Wookiee agrees with you, and considers it a point of honor to pursue the master's assassin."  HK made impatient clicking noises.  "Extrapolation: Pursuing this course of action will result in a greater chance for me to blast meatbags.  Therefore, I will accompany you, as your meatbag blundering will likely require my expertise."

"I'll take what I can get," I said, and we started down the street.

The local law enforcement did not impress me.  The solidly-built woman identified as Deputy Bevor clammed up on seeing me, until I threatened to go straight to the Governor with my complaints.  Or maybe it was HK's, "Supplication: Please let me blast the uncooperative meatbag, love-interest-of-master?" 

I could have done without the commentary on my personal life, but now wasn't the time for it.

Either way, the constable finally heaved a sigh.  "I suppose I could let you question the culprit, though it won't do you much good.  She's not all that coherent."

The constable led us to the detention cell and the pink Twi'lek woman who lay huddled behind the barrier leapt to her feet.  Shock like cold water went through me.  She was the very same one who'd shown me to my room in the Governor's enclave.  The one with the Republic soldier boyfriend.  The girl who'd given me the passcard for the speeder bay and a chance to duck out of the reception early, and seemed so grateful to me.  "You!" I said, feeling betrayed.  She must have read me like a public HoloNet terminal.

She stared back at me dully.  

"_Why?_" I said, the fear and rage of seeing Noura, facedown and covered in what I thought was blood, in the fiery, smoky mess of her room roaring back to me in a red haze that tunneled my vision.

Her head-tails twitched jerkily.  "Protection," she mumbled, dropping into a crouch.  "Has to be...justice...order..."  She reached up and stroked her shuddering lekku, digging her fingernails into the agitated limbs.

I bent down, putting my face close to the field that separated her from the rest of the law-abiding galaxy.  "Tell me why you planted a bomb in Noura Den Hades' room.  Tell me why you tried to kill her."  I wanted to ask what Noura had ever done to her, but I realized that as Darth Revan, the list of people she'd wronged was long enough to ring a large planet.

"Can't...see...face like...a mask...two people in one."  Her cloudy eyes focused on me, and her agitated twitching stilled.  "Is there something I can get for you, Commander?"

I sat back, immediately regretting my angry words.  "She doesn't even know where she is."  And if that was the case, then mad bomber or not, this woman needed to be in a medical facility, not a jail.

The constable shrugged.  "She's been like that ever since we first went to the Governor's.  Detonation devices were found in her desk and her personal belongings, along with schematics to the comm units in the guest wing."

"Where was the paint?" I asked, thinking of Bastila's room.

"Paint?"  Deputy Bevor blinked rapidly, eyelids opening and shutting fast enough to make me want to look away.

"Nevermind," I said.  "Why'd she do it?"

The constable shook her head.  "Can't say yet.  She's not actually in here for the attempted murder.  She's in here because when we went to the Governor's to start questioning, we brought her into the room to question her on the basics--where she was, what she was doing, and who she did it with--and she attacked the Governor.  She saw him and she must have snapped."  She shook her head sadly.

"What's her name?" I asked.

The constable consulted the datapad mounted next to the cell portal.  "Tann Teksa.  It's so nice to see one of them get out of that dancing-girl rut they all seem to fall into.  Shame about this one."

I turned my snort into a cough.  Obviously, the constable hadn't met Mission yet.  Or Yuthura Ban, or any number of female Twi'leks of my recent acquaintance.  "And you found the bomb evidence in her things?"

"Correct."  Bevor did that fluttering blink again.  I leaned back. 

 "What will happen to her now?"

"She'll be remanded to a detention facility on the space station until her trial.  Then she'll be shipped off to prison somewhere."

_Good_, a part of me thought.  Yet it wasn't all of me.  I saw a girl not much older than Mission, and I couldn't escape the fact that Tann Teksa was obviously not of sound enough mind to survive any sort of detention facility.  I pinched the bridge of my nose, just between my eyebrows, and felt a headache coming on.

"She needs medical help," I said.  "She's out of her head."

Constable Bevor fixed me with a look, a steady one this time, without the blinking.  Her dark eyes were shuttered.  "Not my problem.  The orbital station will work her over soon enough.  The Governor wants her where she can't harm anybody."

"How about the Jedi Enclave?" I said.  "They can certainly keep their prisoners," I muttered, remembering Dantooine.  While Noura received her training, the rest of us--even Canderous, who had the weakest of reasons to hang around with the rest of us--had been oddly mellow on Dantooine.  

Bevor stared at me, snakelike for almost a minute before starting that annoying flutter-blink again.  "The constabulary is quite capable of doing its job," she said frostily.

I winced inwardly at my choice of words.  Never, ever challenge the jurisdiction of a law enforcement officer unless you're prepared to back it up with official muscle.  And official muscle I didn't have.  "Of course you are," I said.  "I just meant that your job isn't to coddle the sick."  

She stared at me again, interrupting it with her rapid-fire blinks.  "The Jedi are welcome to cause whatever trouble they want outside these walls.  But inside, I'm in charge, and we don't want their trouble."

Normally, I'd have no problems with this attitude, as I found myself thinking along the same lines far too often.  But I knew the value of the Jedi as well, and they solved as many problems as they caused.

Not wanting to upset the odd woman any further, I thanked her for her patience and we left the constabulary office.

Zaalbar barked.  HK translated.  "Translation: The Wookiee finds the Twi'lek's behavior distressing."

I looked at the big, furry biped.  "I do, too, Z.  And I don't trust sloppy detective work."  I pulled out my commlink and handed it to him.  "She's obviously not coherent enough to know where she is, much less why she might have done something, and the matter of Bastila's room is still completely unsolved, even though they're connected.  Why don't you and Mission shoot up into the branches around the Governor's place and see what falls out of the trees."

"Supplication: Was that an order to open fire, meatbag?"

"No, HK.  You and I are going to a higher authority.  The Republic ought to have some stake in seeing justice done."

The droid's shoulder-servos whirred as he slumped dejectedly.  "Cheer up," I said, patting HK right over the Carbonite projector.  "You can put some of those rusty protocol skills to use."

* * * 


	75. Repair Work

Repair Work

Revan

Jolee sent us out of the Council chambers.  Well, actually, he waved his hands in my face and said, "Girlie, I'm sure _your _brain goes a million kilometers an hour at all times, but some of us with more years and sense know when to let things percolate a little while."

It wasn't until after dinner that I caught up to him again.  "Bastila doesn't have the experience," I said, inviting myself to help the old man make his way out of the dining hall.  Mission sidled up next to me, and for all intents and purposes, we looked like a pair of do-gooders overeager to help the oldster get around.  "She's held people at arm's length all her life."

Jolee snorted.  "Bah!  You think you're the only Jedi who's ever been smart and flexible?  You're so protective of her, _you _ought to have a place on the Council instead of me." 

The door opened from the dining hall, and Master Vrook stepped out to join us.  I didn't react to him, as I was still dealing with what Jolee had just said.  "Did I just hear you right?  You have a place on the Council?"  Too bad I wasn't going to be around to enjoy that.

Mission let out a little cry.  "Well, that's the way to drop a bomb on us.  Congratulations!"

"Well," I said.  Jolee, on the Council.  I looked at Master Vrook.  He looked slightly less disapproving than he usually did.  I took it for overwhelming glee.  "Congratulations.  I'm happy for you."

Jolee smiled.  "Don't go all dewy-eyed just yet.  I won't be a full member of the Council until I train up some Padawans."

I developed a rapidly sinking feeling at the sudden gleam in his eye.  I'd just been outmaneuvered, and I knew it.  Beside Jolee, Master Vrook broke out in an actual smile.  "Well," I said again.  "Old ma--Master, I mean.  But didn't Master Vrook tell you? I thought I'd made things clear back in the hospital tent.  I'm leaving the Order."  It hurt to say it, even though I thought I might have gotten used to it by now.

"Nonsense," Vrook said.  "I thought you understood.  We were considering changes."

I reeled.  "I thought _you _understood.  I won't give up my attachments.  I can't follow the Code."

"No," Jolee said, "You can't, until you understand it fully.  That's what I'll be teaching you.  In many creative ways."  He looked at Master Vandar.  _When did he join this party_, I wondered.  "Didn't I tell you?  Nomi Sunrider all over again."

Master Vandar nodded.  "Forced to choose, Nomi was, between love and duty."  His eyes, always so kindly, narrowed and suddenly became hard as Mandalorian iron.  "Say the same, can you?  Serve a larger good than your lover?"

"I hope I never have to," I said, "but I will serve the Force."  I closed my eyes and remembered being with Carth in the cargo hold, right after escaping the Leviathan.  I saw us standing together, almost touching, his blaster against my temple.  I saw myself asking him to do what was necessary if I should fall.  I saw him saying yes.  We'd already made this decision, before we even admitted we were in love.

Master Vandar nodded.  "As always, a Jedi must."

"Keep in mind you may be getting the bad end of the deal here," I said.  "If enough people believe that I'm Darth Revan, having me in the Order might just kill your credibility."

"Having Noura Den Hades in the Order will do just fine," Jolee said.  "People will just have to learn to separate the two."

I shook my head.  "I don't know if that's the right thing to do.  I won't deny my past, even if I don't remember it.  It isn't right for me to pretend I didn't lay waste to the galaxy."  I didn't want to leave Darth Revan behind.  She was a part of me, and while it might set the Jedi Order on its ear, I felt like I owed her something--if she hadn't died, I'd never be.  And she had been a good person once.  To ignore the dark part of her suggested I should deny her light as well.  I'd seen in the Enclave records that it was impossible to just rip somebody from existence.  

"Forget, you must not," Master Vandar said, "But fade, the memory should."

"This might sound...crazy, but I don't want the memory to fade.  Not for me, at least.  Too many of my memories are like looking at holovids."  So many times on the Ebon Hawk, while I listened to Canderous's war stories, or Carth's memories of Dustil, or Mission's harrowing tales of life in the Tarisian Lower City, I had envied them.  Their pasts had a veracity that mine lacked.  They smiled when they remembered happy things.  Their voices grew sad or husky or gruff when they talked about tragedies.  I tried to tell one or two stories and came out sounding like I was describing the plots to the holovid adventure of the week--the insipid kind they showed on the public frequencies, not the exotic ones on the pay channels.  

I'd believed it was from the head injury I sustained in the lifepod.  Now I wondered how many holovids-of-the-week Masters Vrook and Vandar had to watch to put together a suitably chequered past for me.

Master Vrook spoke for Master Vandar.  "The memory must pass from the minds of the people.  The galaxy must release the ghost of Darth Revan.  Darth Revan is no more."

_Yet she still keeps getting hate mail_, I thought.  Being able to stay in the Order filled me with dread and excitement, and not a little relief.  As long as I was associated with Darth Revan--as long as people believed or worried that she could come back, they'd want to remove the threat.  Unless I figured out some way to remove it first.

* * *


	76. Cornered

Cornered

Mission

The commlink summons from Zaalbar came at the perfect time.  Noura, Jolee, and Juhani started to talk about Jedi politics, and Mission felt bounced right out of her element.  People made things way too hard on themselves sometimes.  The last thing she wanted to do was to be stuck in some room with a bunch of geezers talking about how many Jedi could dance on the head of a grenade pin, and whether or not they should be doing a two-step.  "Big Z needs me," she called out to the group clustered around the dining hall door.

Noura's eyes grew sharp and concerned.  "Is everything okay?"

Mission waved her hand.  "It's fine.  We're gonna do a little exploring around the North end of town."

Noura folded her arms.  "You mean near the Governor's mansion," she said.  "Do I have to warn you about being careful?"

Mission grinned.  "Careful's boring."

"Then at least take this," she said, and pulled a stealth emitter from her pack.

"Hey, you got it fixed," Mission said.  

Noura smiled at her.  "Go stir up trouble," she said.  She didn't need to ask twice.

Mission followed Big Z's directions and ended up in an alley that housed a speeder bike chop shop.  A greasy-looking human male gunned his souped-up bike when she walked past.  "Get a life," she muttered.  The sudden sputtering of his engine and his grunt of dismay had her smiling to herself.  Loser.

Zaalbar appeared from behind a large stack of crates.  She clambered up the crate mountain to get herself closer to his face so they could have a semi-private conversation over the roar of machinery from the garage.  "Why'd you pick this place, Z?  I'm about to go deaf."

[It is close to the constabulary office.  There is something distressing there.]

"Distressing?  How so?  Did they find out who put the bomb in Noura's room?"

Z warbled agitatedly.  [The woman is mad.  Or seems to be.  She is a female Twi'lek named Tann Teksa.  She worked in the Governor's Estate as one of his personal aides.  The constable says that she attacked the Governor on sight when they brought her to his office for routine questioning, and that bomb components and schematics were found in her possessions.  But nothing was said about the vandalism to Bastila's room, and Carth does not believe the story is as it seems.]

She nodded.  "There's no motive," she said to Z.  

[Perhaps there does not need to be one.  Perhaps the woman believed Noura to be the Dark Lord once again, or vowed revenge.]

Mission thought for a moment, then nodded.  "I guess that's possible.  But that would mean that she'd have to have somehow found out about Noura's identity for sure, and found out in enough time to assemble and plant the bomb.  And she'd have to get the bomb from somewhere."  A sudden thought occurred to her.  "And that means she'd have to spend money.  Hey Z, d'you think we could get into the Governor's place again?"

The Wookiee shrugged.  [Mission, I am not exactly inconspicuous.]

She patted the new stealth emitter.  "Duh," she said.  "That's why you're going to be the diversion."

[I knew you were going to say that.  I have also done some investigating of my own.]

"You did?  Z, that's great.  What did you find out?"  Big Z wasn't as devious as she was, which was why she looked out for him so much.  

[The paint on Noura's clothing from the other night had a strong, distinct odor to it.  The same odor that comes from this garage.]

Mission frowned.  "So you think the paint came from here?  Along with the person who did it?"

[Perhaps.]  Zaalbar touched his snout.  [I need to smell the garage in the Governor's estate to be sure.]

She scratched her head.  "But what if they smell the same?  Won't that put us back at square one?"

Zaalbar shook his shaggy head affirmative.

She shrugged.  "Well, if it pans out, then we're one step ahead of where we were.  So let's think of a good excuse to get you into that speeder garage."

It wasn't her best work, but her, "I come from the Jedi Enclave, along with the Kashyyyk Ambassador to the Republic," perked up the ears of the protocol droid at the front gate enough for her to get into the estate. 

[Kashyyyk Ambassador to the Republic?] Zaalbar fretted.

"You've just been promoted, Z."  She grinned.  "Now, you go on to the speeder garage.  I'm gonna find a terminal."

[What if someone finds me?] he said.

"Make something up," she shot back.  "Tell 'em you're looking to open up a speeder dealership on Kashyyyk or something."

Zaalbar headed towards the speeder garage and Mission ducked into the low doorway that she remembered led to the main reception hall.  She felt exposed, in spite of the stealth emitter, as she crossed the cavernous room.  Ever since the jungle, she didn't trust stealth emitters as much as she used to.  She found a terminal in an anteroom off the reception hall.  

"Okay," she muttered.  "Who are you, Tann Teksa?"  She jammed a security spike into the access port.  Her fingers flew over the controls and she was rewarded a few minutes later with the data file on Tann.  Twi'lek female, nineteen years old, exemplary performance record.  Parents perished in freighter accident en route to Ord Mantell fourteen years ago, raised by distant relatives in Hutt space.  Mission shook her head.  This girl didn't have any family lost to either the Mandalorians or the Sith.  She'd come here in the entourage of a Hutt dealing in household technology supplies.  She didn't even have any remote connections to the war.

She pulled the spike out of the access port and logged off the terminal.  She reactivated her stealth emitter.  A faint, almost subsonic whine pricked at her ears.  The emitter vibrated against her abdomen and she looked down at it.  Damn thing wouldn't ever be right.  She swallowed.  No help for it now, she thought as she peeked out the doorway.  The large room looked deserted.  If she played it cool, and if nobody decided they had pressing business between her and the door, she might just make it.  She'd been in worse places.

She edged out of the anteroom, keeping her pace and movements slow.  The field wavered before her eyes, flashes of disruption popping in and out of the corners of her eyes. 

She was halfway along the wall of the reception room when the door opposite her opened.  Oh hells, she thought, and froze.  The jewels on the stiffly-gaudy robes of that vapingly annoying Devaronian Borx'amatto threw spots of light on the walls of the hallway outside, just before winking their way into the reception room itself.  If she were the murdering type, she'd give anything for a vibroknife and the opportunity to slip it between a few of those jewels right now.

The Devaronian blocked her way to the exit, damn it all.  She flattened herself against the wall and slowed her pace to a crawl.  He ambled leisurely around the room, a half-smile on his womp-rat face, humming to himself.  Almost as if he were--searching for something.  She froze completely and narrowed her eyes to slits.  She even went so far as to stop breathing for as long as she could, all the while thinking, _I'm not here, I'm not here, you can't see me, I'm not here_.

Borx's search pattern was bringing him closer.  She took a cautious step to the right, moving as slow as an indolent Hutt.  The stealth emitter clipped to her belt began to overheat.  _Hold on, hold on_, she thought.  _Just hold on a little longer_.  She took another step.  

Borx came toward her, and the whine on her emitter grew louder.  She risked moving a little faster, but the flickers from the field came closer together.  She slid away from him, keeping her eyes on him, but her attention on the door she could just see out of the corner of her eye.  Almost there.  Almost--

A bright flash sent purple spots dancing across her field of vision, and Borx stopped, his smile growing wider.  "Ah, Miss Vao.  Having technical problems?"  He took two long strides towards her and the stealth emitter's whine leapt into the audible range.

She made to dash for the door.  He put an arm out and cut her off.  

She slammed her hand against his arm, right in the bend in his elbow.  He hissed in pain, and bent his elbow, which served to bring him closer to her, rather than further away from the wall.  He slammed his other hand down on the deactivation switch and the field sparked, singeing her skin with a flash of pain.  "Ow," she muttered.

He touched a small device clipped on his belt.  She noted the shape of it and huffed.  "Those are dangerous, you know," she said testily.  Stealth disruptors caused all sorts of interference in every type of electronic, from commlinks to droids to life-support systems of other species.

"I find them dead useful in my field," he said unrepentantly.  "What brings you here?"

"I came her from the Jedi Enclave," she said, hoping that if the threat of Big Z hadn't worked on him, maybe he'd at least fear the wrath of the Jedi.  

"How nice for you.  I notice you didn't say you were here on behalf of the Jedi, though."

Served her right for trying to avoid an outright lie.  If only Jedi were more overtly violent, they'd make a better threatening chip.  

"So let me ask you again--what are you doing here?"

"None of your business," she said.

"Mm-hm.  But it is the Governor's, I'm sure.  I just came from his office.  Would you like me to go back there and tell him you were skulking around here without an escort and wearing a stealth emitter?"

"You're not with an escort, either," she said.  Her fingers itched to go for the hold-out blaster in her vest.  

"I, unlike you, have permission to be here."

She settled for edging away from the Devaronian.  "Well I, unlike you, am not a slimy busybody who spreads gossip all over the galaxy."

"Gossip?"  He put a hand on his chest.  "Is it mere gossip that your close friend Noura Den Hades is actually the former Sith Lord Revan?  Is it idle speculation that your Jedi friend Bastila's been kidnapped by a Mandalorian?  Or that the Jedi are harboring a Sith spy responsible for bringing an invading force down onto this very planet not two days ago?"

He knew about Dustil!  Her palms grew damp.  As absurd as it sounded, the idea of somebody else going after Dustil made her see red.  Nobody else was allowed to hate him.

"I--"  Sudden fury curled her hands into fists.  And how dare he attack Noura and Bastila?  "You have no right butting your ugly snout into Jedi business," she said hotly.  "Noura's no more the Dark Lord than I am.  She _killed_ the Dark Lord, remember?  And saved your sorry butt--no, the sorry butts of everyone in this galaxy!"

"The people deserve to know the truth.  If the Dark Lord is still alive, then Revan has to pay for her crimes."

"Bastila defeated Revan almost two years ago," Mission said.  "Everybody knows that."

"Ah, yes, Bastila.  Seen leading a unit of _Dark_ Jedi _against_ Republic forces on the Star Forge.  Shall I continue?"

"Rumors and speculation," she hissed, and prayed the quaking in her stomach wouldn't spread out to her limbs.  "You got nothing!"

"Canderous Ordo--hired killer for the Exchange, not to mention one of Mandalore's top Generals responsible for the deaths of thousands of Republic troops, and the decimation of multiple worlds and peoples on the Outer Rim."

"Weak," she sneered.  "Canderous brags about that stuff to anyone who'll listen."  Or he used to, she thought.  

"Carth Onasi, whose esteemed military career was fostered and hand-guided by none other than the former Fleet Admiral of the Sith."

"Carth turned down Saul's offer!" she said, an ache tightening her chest.

"Hmm...interesting.  So Revan's actually wanted Carth all along."  He chuckled.  It was an ugly sound.  "Must've been a miscalculation on Revan's part to send an old man to do persuading better left to a woman.  She keeps him real close now, doesn't she?"

Mission closed her eyes and tried to control her rising bile.  Borx made everything sound so...dirty.  "Shut up," she said.  "You're so full of bantha poodoo I can smell it rolling off you.  You stink."

"Do I?"  He smiled and leaned closer.  "How about--Zaalbar, son of Freyyr.  Exiled from Kashyyyk for being a Madclaw.  Murdered his own brother--a tribe chieftan, and incited a war that slaughtered hundreds of Czerka employees."

"No!  It wasn't like that!  Czerka's no bunch of saints and you know it!  Why don't you do a story on how they entered into an exclusive deal to supply the _Sith_ with all their weapons and armor, huh?"

He gave her a grin and dipped his horns.  "Because that's old news.  Besides, Czerka makes it very worth my while to find interesting stories elsewhere.  And your buddies certainly do have interesting stories."

"You make me sick!"  She put both hands out and shoved hard at him.  He staggered back, caught flat-footed by her sudden move.  She no longer cared if he called the guards and got her arrested for trespassing.  If she had to tolerate his presence one second longer, she'd puke.  And keep puking until she turned herself inside out.

"Miss Vao," he called out to her.  "The Governor?"

She stalked towards the exit.  "Do your worst, you slimy space-slug."

His next words stopped her dead in her tracks.  "How's your brother been lately?"  Cold fear froze solid her churning guts.

"Have you heard from him?"  Borx's voice went smooth.  "No?  I have a few friends in the Exchange that are very eager to...talk to him."

Stars and planets--she didn't even know where Griff was!  After he split from Tatooine, she figured he would end up in a jam like this.  "Griff's good," she said, forcing confidence into her voice.  "Your friends'll never find him."

"But they already have," he said silkily.  "Hoth's no place for a Twi'lek without a warm coat."

"Griff wouldn't be caught dead on Hoth," she said, turning back to him.  "Not unless he was dragged--" Oh, dear Zim!  She closed her mouth at Borx's smirk.

"We're going to a lot of trouble for you, Miss Vao.  Are you ready to work with us?"

"You've been reporting all that _gossip_ just to get me into a tight corner?"

"I've been reporting those _facts_ because they're hot news.  Getting you into a tight corner is a nice little side-benefit."

"Bite me," she said, and immediately regretted it when he showed teeth.  "Why do you want me, of all people?  There's gotta be a couple thousand other blue Twi'lek girls you can annoy."

He didn't answer her for a long moment.  He just stood there, breathing, while his eyes traveled from the top of her head, down her face to her chest and--her skin wanted to crawl right off her bones.  Her hand came out without conscious thought and she slapped him.  "Hey Horny, my face is up here!"

He shook his head.  "Sorry," he said.  "I wasn't looking at you that way.  You want to know why it's you I'm after?  Two words--Star Quality."

She rolled her eyes.  "That might work on some half-bombed cantina rat, but I'm a little smarter than that."

"It's true," he said.  "You don't have the looks or the body that some of the girls on the holovids have, but what you do have is something that blows them all away.  You've got Presence.  When you want to be noticed, nobody can look away.  You have a light that shines bright enough to make other people's darkness turn to mere shadow."

She drew in a shaky breath and wished she could stop up her ears with her fingers.  Juhani'd said almost the same thing to her, way back on Dantooine when they first met.  The words were a compliment of the highest order from the Cathar woman she now considered her friend, but hearing them come from Borx--he made her sound like some sort of new type of spice or something.  

"That's the girl that Slooka wants for his new holos.  A girl that people can't help watching.  You, Miss Vao."  

She couldn't care less about some Hutt's holovids, even if it was Slooka, who had birthed the most beloved hero of weekly adventures in the galaxy today.  But Borx was trouble.  Already he made trouble for all her friends, and if she believed him, her brother, too.  It would serve him right, but she couldn't turn her back completely on her brother.  Noura once counseled her that Griff might be a loser with a capital L, but he was still her family, and she was lucky to have family, period.

"So I'm prepared to work with you.  I said I'd sweeten the deal, didn't I?" Borx said.  "You come with me to see Slooka.  And I make you rich beyond your wildest dreams."

She raised an eyebrow.  "I've got plenty of credits already.  And I don't want dirty money."

"My friends in the Exchange really have some important stuff to do--I mean, _say_--to your brother.  But I'm sure they'll make every effort to send the pieces back to you.  And if you're lucky, I might be able to keep you from the lynch mob that's bound to start hunting down your friends one by one.  Did you know that just about anybody can land at the spaceport on Yavin 13?"

"You bastard," she said flatly.

"That's 'brilliant bastard,' " he said.  "I'll even be magnanimous and let you accompany your friends to Yavin 13 for the duel."

Her fingernails were digging half-moons into her palms.  If only Canderous had pulled this stunt someplace more private.  Or better yet, not pulled it at all.  Hell, she'd even put up with the chances of walking in on them again if it meant they'd be safe.  And Noura--she'd already come unglued once over her identity.  She and Carth deserved to be left in peace.  If Mission could make that happen, then--

"I'll go with you," she said, "but first, you stop the smear campaign.  You leave Big Z, Carth, Noura, Bastila, Canderous--every single one of my friends alone."  Her voice dropped down into a low hiss.  "You leave Dustil out of it, too.  And I want Griff somewhere safe, along with proof that he's unharmed.  In fact," she paused to think, "since you're going to make so much money off Slooka by delivering me to him, you pay off whatever debt Griff's racked up and get the Exchange off his back permanently."

"Deal--but you make sure to tell your friends that you're leaving with me willingly.  The last thing I need is a bunch of Jedi hounding my every move."

"Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you went and messed with my friends," she shot back.

"Believe it or not, Miss Vao, you're really getting a good deal out of this."

Her head-tails lashed out, snapping angrily.  "Kath-crap!" she said.  "I'm getting somebody else's good deal out of it.  I don't want to be a star.  I didn't even want to be as famous as I am from the Star Forge!  I'm doing this for one reason, and one reason only, and that's to protect the people I care about.  So don't you think you can justify it by telling yourself you're giving me a break, because you're not."

He narrowed his eyes.  "You are so going to knock Slooka dead when you meet him.  There's just one more thing."

Her mouth dropped open.  "You are unbelievable!  Don't you ever give up?"

"I want exclusive interviews with you when you make it big."

"Well I want you to take a flying leap into a Sarlacc pit naked.  Think we can work together?"

* * *


	77. Military Intelligence

Military Intelligence

Carth

Tann Teksa's dejected, huddled confusion, and Deputy Bevor's disturbing lack of initiative prompted me to go to the Republic garrison next.  Force only knew what politics went on around local law enforcement, but I could count on the Republic to be at least a little consistent.  The gate guard saluted me stiffly.  "Commander," he said.  "Can I ask you your business here?"

I stopped short.  In the weeks since the Star Forge, I'd come and gone with little more than a wave through gates and even classified areas opened up for me.  Certainly a little thing like the garrison gate shouldn't be closed to me.  I wasn't looking for quid pro quo by any means, but even civilians barely get a wave during business hours.  I raised an eyebrow.  "I'm here to see Captain Tanner," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

I had to fight to keep the astonishment from showing on my face.  Instead I frowned.  "Three bars gets me in without an appointment," I said.  Pulling rank wasn't usually my style, but yesterday, I'd have not only been allowed into the garrison, but someone would have been rushing ahead of me to key open the doors so I wouldn't be troubled.

"With all due respect, _Commander_."  The young man put a mocking emphasis on my rank.  "Those were the _Captain's _orders."

I ground my back teeth together.  I loved the Republic, what it stood for, how it operated.  And it always treated me well.  Up until now.  "Why don't you explain to your Captain that I'm here to give a report on the Sith ambush that _I_ fought point in two days ago."

The guard's lip curled, but he keyed in the gate release and the blast doors began to roll ponderously to the sides.  "Are you reporting on the part before or after your own son betrayed the Republic?"

At that moment, I was extremely glad I wasn't a Jedi.  I reached out and grabbed that snot-nosed little punk by the front of his uniform and dragged him to me.  "What was that, Soldier?  Did I hear you questioning the loyalty of a superior officer?"

For one so young, his eyes were hard.  "He's no superior officer of mine," he spat.  I heard a noise behind me, but ignored it.  

"Query: Do you wish this meatbag terminated?  I live to serve."

I glared down into his face and twisted my hand, tightening his collar.  HK's offer was tempting, in a purely theoretical way.  I watched the guard's face go red, then pale as he looked over my shoulder at HK.  "A little advice, Junior," I said.  "There's only one place that talkin' trash about your superior officers will get you up the rank ladder.  And that's the Sith."  I shoved him back, and he staggered into the control console.

Someone cleared a throat behind me.  The red haze of rage drained away and I took a deep breath, furious at myself for having lost control so easily.  I turned around to find Captain Tanner staring at me.  "Commander," he said calmly.

"Your hospitality leaves something to be desired," I said bluntly.

"Ensign, you're dismissed," the Captain said.  The young man I'd just roughed up straightened himself, saluted his CO, and turned smartly on his heel, not bothering to hide the fury radiating from him.  "Walk with me, Commander Onasi."  He flicked a glance to the mechanical muscle at my side.  "And your...protocol droid, too."

Captain Tanner had maybe ten years on me.  But either they'd been soft years, or the man was built like an insulated sandcrawler naturally.  The graying hair at his temples was as thick as a younger man's, but the dark hair atop his head was visibly thinning and stood up in spikes that didn't quite dim the shine coming off his scalp.  He led me through the outer gate and into the main compound.  Half a dozen B-wing fighters stood off to one side in mech bays while droids and mechanics bustled around them.  A few glances turned our way, and one young tech altered his course to avoid us.  The captain gave me a long, measuring look as we walked.  "Damn holorazzi," he muttered.

"Sir?" I said.  

He frowned.  "Where'd you bunk last night, Onasi?"

"Jedi Enclave," I said.  "Somebody tried to kill us all at the Governor's place, so we figured we'd worn out our welcome there."

He nodded grimly.  "You haven't seen HoloNet today, then?"

I shook my head.  "I've been in conference with Ambassador Aktil of Yavin 8."

"Then you'd better come with me."  He led me to his office.  Datapads were piled on the battered desk.  I glanced at the tops of a few piles and noted requisition forms, asset transfer requests, and duty rosters.  He shifted a pile and pulled out a datapad from near the bottom and handed it to me.  "This is a fleet report from Intelligence.  It's Red-Level clearance, and last time I checked, you had all the way up to Bronze."

I nodded and scanned the document, my stomach clenching tighter with each word.  _...The similarities between Den Hades and the Jedi Revan are undeniable.  Den Hades' presence presents a clear and present danger to the continued security of Republic interests.  Several splinter cells of Mandalorians in exile past the Outer Rim have been in movement since the Star Forge battle.  Sith intelligence indicates continuing interest in exploiting the Dark Lord's powers and knowledge, which is believed to still reside in the mind of the woman suspected of being the Dark Lord..._

"Son of a..." I muttered, looking up.

"Evaluation: It appears the public's gratitude has receded exponentially."

"No kidding," I muttered.

He lifted his eyebrows.  "That was yesterday's report.  Page down for today's.  I figure as a father you--ought to know."

As if my stomach could get any tighter.  I thumbed down the datapad and horror--there's no other word for it--horror grabbed hold of me by the base of my spine and shook until my knees turned to water.  _...Lieutenant Dustil Onasi was witnessed by regular personnel releasing the Sith prisoner Xartha Tek.  A warrant has been issued for Onasi's arrest.  If apprehended, orders are to remand Onasi to Intelligence without delay..._

I staggered.  My boy...they didn't understand...

Captain Tanner put a hand on my shoulder.  "I know you and your people fought hard down there in the jungle.  And some of these young whelps don't remember you from the Mandalorian wars.  They wouldn't understand what it took for you to refuse to follow a man like Saul--they don't know how admired he was before he turned Sith.  How shocking it was back then to turn against your comrades in arms."

I nodded at his words.  The old wound of Saul's betrayal had started healing with his death, but that didn't mean it didn't still throb on occasion.  But it was a distant ache compared to what I faced at this moment.

The Captain's lips tightened in a grimace.  "This is military news.  You don't even want to know what HoloNet is digging up on you all.  My advice--if your son is in the Jedi Enclave--" he held up a hand, "--and I don't want to know if he is--then keep him there, and away from the soldiers.  The stuff that HoloNet keeps reporting is--" he shook his head.  "Well, with that crap making the rounds through subspace, I'd be bound for the Outer Rim."

"Can you tell me one thing," I asked.  "Before I lose all my clout.  What do you know about the bombs in the Governor's estate?"

"It's being investigated," the Captain replied.  "A suspect is in custody with the local law enforcement."

I nodded.  "I saw what passed for the perp, and I don't buy it.  Not when that girl personally thanked me for my efforts at the Star Forge mere hours before the bombing."

The Captain sighed.  "What do you want me to do about it?" he said.  "You know the Republic doesn't interfere in local law enforcement."  

Did he really need to ask?  "Unless they have good reason.  Isn't justice a good enough reason?  Isn't that one of the things the Republic stands for?"

He sat down in his chair and motioned for me to do the same.  "With the armada gone, all the Sith have left is espionage, and if you want my opinion, we hit their off-hand when we beat 'em in a fair fight.  I've been digging Sith infiltrators out of my breakfast cereal for weeks now, and the whole fleet's getting tired of it."

I moved a stack of datapads and dropped into the chair formerly holding them up.  I used the motion to try and cool my anger.  It lurked there, just beneath the surface, that part of me that got out of its strongbox in the jungle.  

HK stepped up to stand directly behind me.  "Observation: The Jedi have a right to seize jurisdiction, since the crime's intended victim is, in fact, a Jedi."

I turned around to look at the droid, astonished.  "HK," I said, "That's the most diplomatic thing I've ever heard you say."

"Supplication: Please speak no more of it, meatba--Commander.  I do have a reputation to think of."

I turned back around, shaking my head.  The Captain raised his eyebrows.  "That's a real piece of work you've got there, Onasi."

"Interjection: Commander Meatbag is not my master.  I have been reunited with--"

"_Thank_ you, HK!" I butted in before he could begin rhapsodizing about Noura's previous career as the scourge of the galaxy.  To the Captain, I said, "You really don't want to know the half of it, but suffice it to say that HK's efforts were crucial to the destruction of the Star Forge."

He gave me another direct look and nodded.  "For what it's worth, Commander, the strict evidence might be piling up against your Jedi friends, but I believe they're one hundred percent loyal to the Republic.  I can't imagine you keeping company with anyone otherwise."  He sighed.  "But my job is to keep my little corner of the galaxy in relative peace, and that means neutralizing any elements that disturb that peace."  He offered a grim, humorless smile.  "You and your friends ought to find some other system in which to spend the rest of your holiday."

I stood up.  No point in wearing out my already-evaporating welcome.  Much more of this, and I wouldn't have the strength of morality to keep HK from having some fun.  "And what about that girl in the local clink?  Are you just going to let her rot to keep your peace?"

His lips folded into a line.  "I might have someone that can look into it with...discretion."

"Do that," I said.  "I don't care about my own reputation--I know, and the people who matter know, exactly where I stand with the Republic.  But innocent people don't need to suffer for it.  Come on, HK."

"Affirmative, Commander Meatbag."  HK gave the Captain a smart, mechanical salute and followed me out.

Given my status as persona non grata with the gate guards, we elected to leave via the transport depot.  A huge part of me felt bewildered and furious at the Captain's attitude.  Wasn't my loyalty unquestionable?  The walkway leading to the speeder bay was deserted, thankfully, and allowed me time to cool down.  Some piddly little smartass ensign who had a personal problem with my kid did not make up the bulk of the Republic fleet.  People like Admiral Dodonna knew better.  Knew me.

But how many average cits knew what Admiral Dodonna did, and how many were closer to the opinion of the gate guard?  The thought made me pause.  I guess I'd gotten used to walking around like a hero in spite of myself.  Or at least not like an Iridian plague victim.  Admiral Dodonna had asked me what my plans were after the awards ceremonies were over.  I'd jokingly told her I wanted a long furlough in return for the Star Forge.  She laughed and said, "Consider it done, soldier."  Then she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in Revan's direction.  "I'd expected you to finally ask for your walking docs."

"The fight's not over yet, is it?" I countered.  I didn't want to tell her that if the Jedi Council closed ranks around Revan--if they forbade her to be with me and she let them, the last thing I wanted was to have my hands full of time to brood about it.

She didn't smile.  "Spoken like a true career military man.  How does eight weeks sound?"

Back then, it sounded like too short of a time.  Now, with half of it left to go, I wondered if I ought to start filing my request for a discharge while popular opinion still allowed it to be honorable.

* * *


	78. Solitude

A/N: Repeat warning that I have taken a few liberties with Mandalorian culture.  There ain't much out there on it, and I wouldn't expect in a million years for there to be anything as detailed as cultural customs for a people little more than a footnote in the SW universe.  

Solitude

Bastila

After a night haunted by dreams, I awoke again to an empty lodge.  The first thing I did was to re-enter the Ebon Hawk and check for comm messages.  It was all I was permitted to do.  My first morning on Yavin 13, I had attempted to escape via the Hawk, and discovered that traitorous little tin can was firmly entrenched in Canderous's camp.  The minute I activated the Nav console, the droid locked my access to any and all navigational computations and refused any attempts on my part to override his programming, even going so far as to spark me for my troubles.  

I was, however, permitted to check for emergency comm messages and to download holoentertainment.  T3 reported no messages, and I had better things to do than watch holovids while that little bolt-bucket hovered antagonistically around me.  Instead, I returned to the lodge and made tea.

I took my tea outside and gazed into the distance.  I wondered if I might be able to make it out to one of the mesas in time to watch the sunset.  I used a pair of electrobinoculars to measure the distance and concluded I'd need a speeder to get out there.  However, there was a rock formation closer to the lodge.  I was sure I could make it out there and back before Canderous returned.

I went back inside and filled a canteen with water.  I took my lightsaber and datapad, and started out.  The rocks turned out to be closer than they appeared, and I enjoyed myself simply climbing up and down the formations, exploring the plants and tiny creatures I found there.  My self-imposed exile from the Force for the weeks after the Star Forge's fall had robbed me of the small pleasures of simple existence, connected to the life around me.

I turned to the datacards during breaks from exploring.  I discovered that Mandalore was not an inherited title, but one that passed through trial by combat--here, I was not surprised--whenever a challenger successfully battled enough of Mandalore's elite forces to earn the right to face the leader himself.  The Mandalorian version of democracy appeared to be a single-elimination tourney until one of the combatants keeled over dead.

I also learned that the Ordo clan had waxed and waned in prominence, its peak being five hundred standard years ago, when Mandalore hailed from the clan.   After his defeat, the clan receded from prominence for some time, turning their collective efforts towards technological development, and later, cultural.  I raised my eyebrows at this.  Clan Ordo had spent several prosperous decades as chroniclers and historians...no wonder Canderous spoke so much about tradition.  

At the end of my reading, I no longer had an excuse to avoid my meditations, and I reluctantly sank into a meditative pose, longing for the company of other Jedi.  I did not wish to submerge myself in the Force alone.  My experiences of the jungle--I hadn't had time to process them, to view them with the state of detachment necessary to achieve peace.  My feelings about Canderous did not contribute to a state of serenity, either.  In the dark recesses of my mind, I admitted to an active fear of examining them too closely.

Nevertheless, alone I was, and alone I would venture forth.  I stretched out my senses, feeling the tiny lives of small creatures living within the rocks, the pulse of lizards and insects, the steady, patient glow of plant life.  And as I slipped deeper into the meditative trance, the low thrum of the rocks themselves.  I ceased to deepen, and the Force pulled me out to expand.

The wildness of this place, the lack of sentient creatures, allowed me an awareness of not only the tiny lives that surrounded me, or the rocks they rested on, but the symbiotic entity that was their combined essence, and before I knew it, I touched the Force-presence of the planet itself.  An immense, vast presence that made me feel small and awed me with a wonder that startled me.  And then, incredibly, I felt as if it turned its attention on me.

Planetary bodies have immense presences in the Force, but they are not sentient by any means.  Sentient planets are the stuff of legends, speculation outside even the remotest of realities.  Yet I very much felt this planet observed my presence the same way I observed its landscape.  But I did not feel afraid.  Startled, yes.  But I was too deep into the Jedi meditation to feel fear.  Instead, I regarded the planetary presence with sensate curiosity, and felt the same echo back from the massive presence.

_What are you, Bastila Shan?_

I mentally staggered with the power of the inquisitive eddy in the Force.  _I am a Jedi_.  My own thoughts supplied the answer.  The presence of the planet did not recede its inquisitive tendrils at my answer.  

_What are you, Bastila Shan?_

What other answer could I give?  The planet did not seem forthcoming with specifics, and gradually, my mind slipped into a lighter cycle of meditation.  The accusations of my darker self--arrogance, pride, the ease with which I lied to myself--I remained mindful of them as I recited the code.  _There is no emotion, there is peace..._

_...Peace is a lie, there is only passion..._The words of the Sith code returned to me and I shied away from them.  I had experienced both peace and passion, and my mind no longer knew where one began and the other ended.  

I had always believed my greatest peace was found within the walls of the Jedi enclave.  But in the absence of other Jedi to sense my thoughts, I experienced a deeper self-honesty than I had been afforded in a long while.  The distance between myself and Revan allowed our bond to thin, and I faced myself alone, only this time without the interference and manipulation of a dark Sith presence, and I was forced to face the fact that my greatest moments of peace came in conjunction with my greatest moments of passion.

That troubling thought chased away the last vestiges of serenity, and I abandoned the meditation, swimming up from my immersive state, and allowing my body to descend from the levitation.  When I opened my eyes, however, I discovered I was not alone.  A trio of Ikusai wolves had me surrounded, and three pairs of yellow predator's eyes with far too much intelligence regarded me with calculation.  

How had I not sensed them?  I reached back into the Force to find their essences and was shocked to discover they harbored a resistance to the Force.  My hand went to the lightsaber at my waist, and a flick of my thumb extended the blade in a blue glow.  The predators were Force-immune, and they had me cornered.

I waited for the first attack, and when it came, I felt the darkseed in me flare to life, thirsting for the kill.  I swung the blade, directed by the dark hunger inside me, and grazed the wolf.  The stench of burning hair brought me back to myself.  My next stroke was a calculated swing that dug neatly into the side of the beast, and it yelped, dropping to the ground at my feet.

I let the Force flow through me.  It burned in a cool blaze, directly alongside the dark flame that banked but never completely went out in me.  Finally, I began to understand the lessons of the masters.  Where before, I believed my every move in battle was fueled purely by the righteous will of the Force, or rage and anger when I was Malak's apprentice, I now began to sense that my actions came from me--who I was, and who I chose to be.  I could choose to let myself flow with the Force, or I could choose to flow with the rages and passions that came from the darkness within me.  The twin flames of peace and passion flickered within me, sometimes burning in counterpoint with each other, sometimes joining into one bright flame with two sources, but one destination.

_The Dark Side is part of the Force as well..._

The thought stunned me, and I lost my footing.  I should know better than to think while fighting.  Canderous had told me in the jungle, "Don't think, just fight," and I stayed alive by heeding his advice.

I fell off the rock, landing hard on my back on the rocky soil.  The last wolf that faced me loomed above me, baring its teeth.  It leapt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement and was stunned to see Canderous come flying through the air.  He knocked the wolf away from its imminent landing on me, and wrapped his arms around its jaws.  I saw that he had no weapon and stark terror nearly paralyzed me.

The wolf's powerful hindquarters flailed against Canderous's legs, and wounds opened up beneath his trousers, bright red blood staining the duff-colored hide.  I reached into the Force and sent a wave towards the wolf.  The ripple of power broke around the animal, but the shockwave was enough to stun the beast for the few seconds it took Canderous's hands to get around its skull and twist.  I heard the crunch of snapping neckbones and the brute sagged.

I turned just in time to see that these predators were indeed intelligent enough to hunt sentients.  One last Ikusai, hidden in an outcrop of rock, leapt towards me, lashing out with its foreclaws in an effort to bring down its prey.

The wolf's dying effort succeeded and intense burning pain blossomed from my midsection in four long stripes, even as my lightsaber burned through the animal's flesh.

* * *


	79. Matched

Matched

Canderous

She held her midsection and turned to me.  I paid no heed to my own wounds--none of the claw-marks on my legs had hit any major arteries, and my regen implant flooded my system with adrenaline and epinephrine while it accelerated my natural healing process.  All the same, I wouldn't want to fight anything else for a few minutes while I got my second wind.  But her wounds--

"You," she said furiously, features tight with pain.  "You have been fighting these creatures alone.  They are Force-resistant."

I stared at her, wondering why this mattered when blood seeped between her fingers.

"You great idiot!" she shouted.  "You could have been killed!  Outnumbered and overwhelmed!  I could not have used the Force to save you from them!"

The force of her words hit me like a critical strike.  "_Save _me?"  I pulled the single medpac I had from my utility pocket.  "Save _me_?  You've got it wrong, Princess.  I'm the one doing the saving here!"

She winced in pain.  "I'm--the one--with the--lightsaber."

"But you're not the one who has to prove her worth!" Frustration and--I admit it--fear for her made me yell.  "These are my tests.  This is my ordeal.  My honor in question."  I stabbed her in the arm with the medpac's kolto syringe.  What the hell had she been doing out here anyway?

Her eyelids fluttered as the kolto hit her bloodstream.  "It's all about you, isn't it, you overgrown Nerf-herder."

I tore open the antiseptic wipes and pried her hands away from her midriff.  The gashes were long, but shallow.  Nevertheless, she'd need some synthaskin, or else she'd have a pretty set of scars for her trouble.  I relaxed slightly.  She'd live.  If I didn't kill her myself.  "My people have never herded nerfs," I said loftily.  "We would sooner fall on our own swords."

"It's a much nobler profession than arm-wrestling predators with your bare hands and thick skull!  And furthermore--ouch!"  She jerked back from the sting of antiseptic and glared at me.

"Don't be such a ninny," I said, pulling her back by the arm.  

"Don't be such a ronto," she retorted.  But she quieted and let me put the synthaskin over her wounds.  I took care to be gentle.  "What would you have done if one of them bit you?" she said.  "Or mauled you."

"That wouldn't have happened," I said, smoothing my fingers over the patches to remove any air bubbles.  Her skin beneath the kolto bandages felt warm and alive.  Now was not the time to be noticing, but I'm not made of stone.

"It could have," she said.

"Then I'd have bled to death." I shrugged.  "And I would have failed my test of worth."

She sighed heavily.  "You are a fool, Canderous Ordo."

"I have been a fool ever since you came to me on the _Stella Arcos_," I said honestly.

She stared at me for a long moment, her jaw working, but no sound coming out.  "And what would I do if you died?" she said angrily.

"Carry tales of the glory of my battles around the galaxy," I said.  "And set my corpse ablaze in a funeral pyre that burns high enough to reach the heavens," I replied, then sighed.  "It's what I would have done for you on Yavin 4."  The memory of the death rattle that sounded from her throat in the depths of that temple ruin still made me cold.

She blinked rapidly and put out a hand.  "I--"  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then stretched out her other hand to join the first.  I felt the liquid chill of Force healing wash its way under my skin, and the puncture wounds on my thighs burned noticeably less.  Her eyes snapped open.  "You've wasted your only Medpac on me."  She shook her head.  "Why are you being so unreasonable?"

"I am not being unreasonable," I said.  "This is the way things are done among my people."

"Then perhaps your people should change," she shot back and turned towards the speeder.

"Bastila," I said.  There is an old Mandalorian saying that a warrior knows he has met his match when he meets a woman that he can neither live with, nor shoot.  One of Mandalore's firmest tenets was flexibility in strategy.  In this, I had no flexibility.    I was more confident than ever that she was my match, but beyond what I was already doing, I had no other way to convince her.  

"Yes?"  Even injured, she stood proud, her spine spear-straight.  She was magnificent.  Why couldn't she accept that?

"I--you--" I looked at the carcasses littering the ground around us.  "Thank you," I finally said, though it cost me much to say it.  "You fought well."

Maybe age is finally taking its toll on my faculties.  Or perhaps my imagination made me think the stubborn set of her jaw softened just a little.

* * *


	80. Hatching Plots

Hatching Plots

Mission

Borx left her in the reception hall with the warning that if she tried to bolt, her brother was as good as dead, and the next news cycle would see every single one of her friends' dirty little secrets spread all over it.  One small part of her wanted to tell him to go ahead and do it--her friends were good people and they'd weather this.  But she couldn't bring herself to sentence Griff to death.  She couldn't risk the chance that Borx was telling the truth when he said Griff was on Hoth.

[It is as I believed.] Zaalbar said.  [The scent is not present in the garage.  Neither is the paint.]  

Mission barely heard him.  Instead, she dug her hands into his thick coat and hugged him fiercely.

[Mission?  Did something happen?]  Big Z's large paws settled comforting weight on her shoulders.  She buried her face in his coat, inhaling the distinctive, powerful odor that was unique to Wookiees and to her best friend in particular.

She wanted nothing more than to spill her guts and tell him everything that happened.  But fear, like she swallowed a slug, gagged her.  Z would take off Borx's head and probably get arrested for it.  And then Griff--

No, she had to keep her yap shut.  This was her problem, and Big Z had only just won his freedom from the taint of being an outcast.  "I'm okay," she said, her voice muffled by his pelt.  She spat Wookiee hairs off her lips and turned her head to look up at him.  "But something's not right.  This girl has no more reason to hate Darth Revan than any other average cit.  Her homeworld's still intact--her parents died in an accident long before Darth Revan, or even the Mandalorians really came on the scene."  Mission suddenly felt more sympathy for the Twi'lek girl.  She now had first hand experience in what it felt like to be backed into a corner.

[Carth mentioned that her boyfriend was a Republic soldier.]

Mission frowned.  "You'd think that would make her like us more, then.  I mean, isn't the war pretty much over now that the Star Forge is gone?"

Z shrugged.  [Many Sith still roam the galaxy.]  

"I guess."  Mission looked up the street towards the building that served as a local jail.  "I want to see her," she said.

[You'll have to go in alone.  The constable knows me, and she didn't care for Carth.]

"Wow, a woman 'not caring' for Carth.  That might just be a galactic first."  Z led her to the jail, then waited outside while she went in.

The constable creeped her out.  She'd met Trandoshans with more warmth and expressiveness.  But what broke her heart was the huddled form of Tann Teksa.  She'd talked to the pink girl briefly, at the beginning of the reception.  Tann helped them avoid the press and even outmaneuvered Borx on her behalf.  Not that that did any good in the long run, she thought sourly.  But seeing Tann, so bright before and now so broken, filled Mission with fear, and the sense that Borx might be bad, but there were worse places to be.  She leaned down.  "Tann," she whispered.  The girl continued to huddle, and Mission's head-tails waved in sympathy.  "Tann," she said again.

"Two faces," the pink girl muttered.  Her head-tails twitched in agitation.  Mission hadn't grown up on Ry'loth, but between Griff's half-arsed lessons, and whatever Zaerdra and Lena had tried to teach her, she knew enough of the lekku-language to know that the other girl was lost somewhere else.  Her body was locked in a jail, but her mind was somewhere in a horrible nightmare.  Mission's own lekku tingled almost painfully at the twisted contortions of the other girl's head-tails.  To snap and jerk her head-tails like that--she'd rather pop her legs off and put them where her arms were.  Tann babbled nonsense words, repeating something over and over about someone with two faces, and needing to protect something.  And that--creepy constable just sat in her corner and read her datapad like nothing was going on.

Mission leaned in close to the other girl, close enough for the force-field to raise static electricity along her skin.  "Tann," she said.  "My name's Mission Vao, remember?  I'm going to help you.  I'm going to get you out of here."

She left the constable without thanking the odd human.  Z waited for her in the alley outside.  It was almost full dark and she could hear the main streets filling with groups of people looking for fun or trouble.  She didn't particularly want to be part of either right now.  She had plenty of the latter and didn't trust other people's ideas of the former.

[We should return to the Jedi Enclave now, and inform Carth of our findings.]

She nodded.  At least with the Jedi, she'd be safe from Borx.

She and Big Z took the long way back to the Jedi enclave, because of its privacy.  "Hey Z," she said, after a while.

[This isn't going to be about my coat again, is it?]

Her laugh was bittersweet.  She'd give almost anything to return to the days where the enemy wore shiny reflective uniforms and could be taken down with blasters and blades.  When the enemy was the enemy and not the people they were fighting to protect.  "No.  You go ahead and be as mangy as you wanna be."  She took a breath.  "If you could do something to protect your friends--to save them from something unexpected--would you?"

[Of course!]

She bit her lip.  They continued to walk and it took her two more streets to come up with another question that was ambiguous enough to ask him.  "Even if it meant you'd have to make some great sacrifice?"

[It is never a sacrifice to protect one's friends.  I know that friends are the most precious thing in this galaxy to have.]

"You're right.  They are."  Planets could be blown up, but as long as you had friends, you still had a home.

At the Enclave, she and Big Z were able to meet up with Carth.  Carth didn't look too good, though.  He had that "I'm grinding my back teeth together because I'm mad or worried about something but nobody else besides Noura will be able to pull it out of me" look.  They made their report, and Carth's frown got bigger and bigger.  Noura was off somewhere with Jolee.  When she told Carth that Jolee had been made a Master, and that he was taking on Noura to finish her training, she thought he'd hit the roof.  

Instead, his face lightened.  "Best news I've heard all day."  His mood turned somber.  "I want you both to stay in the Enclave tonight.  No running around looking for trouble.  I learned something in the Republic garrison today that made me realize that not everybody is happy about our work on the Star Forge."

She snorted.  "Duh.  Haven't you been reading HoloNet?  For a bunch of heroes, our name is worse than mud."  Thanks to Borx.  She stiffened her shoulders with new resolve.  He had what he wanted now.  If her friends' reputations didn't improve, then she made a vow to herself right then and there to kill Borx'amatto in such a slow and painful way, he'd _know_ that one of her best friends was the former Dark Lord of the Sith.

"I guess we'll have to figure out what to do about that later.  The transport leaves at oh-four-hundred.  You guys had better get some sleep."  He clapped Zaalbar's shoulder and patted her hand.  "Good work today, you guys."

"Why?" she blurted out.  "We didn't figure out who really put that bomb in Noura's room, or who trashed Bastila's."

"No," he said.  "Hell, we might never find out who really did it.  But we're a step closer to proving that Tann Teksa _didn't_.  I'm all right with freeing an innocent if we can't find the guilty."

Impulsively, Mission flung herself into Carth's arms and hugged him as tight as she'd hugged Big Z earlier.  "Whoa--hey," he said, a second before he hugged her back.

"You're such a good guy," she said into his jacket.  "You and Noura deserve to live happily ever after."

He patted her back.  "I--uh, thanks, Mission.  You know we'd never have gotten this far without you, either."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.

Big Z woofed.  [We should rest for tomorrow.  Hopefully, there will be a wedding to celebrate.]

She nodded, and with another hug to Big Z, she headed towards the room she shared with Noura and Juhani.  She stopped in the communal 'fresher to wash the yuck of interacting with Borx off her.  She emerged from the shower and realized she wasn't alone.  "Hello?"

A human Jedi woman was toweling herself off, running her fingers through her short dark hair and humming to herself.  She turned.  "Hello," she said, smiling pleasantly.

Mission recognized her.  "You're Belaya, aren't you?  Juhani's girlfriend."

Belaya raised her eyebrows.  "News travels fast," she said.

Mission laughed.  "It doesn't.  But I'm rooming with her.  Listen," she said, knowing that she wouldn't get the chance to get to know her Cathar friend's lover over time.  "Juhani's my friend.  She's been through a lot."  Mission thought of Xor, the cretin from Juhani's past that had caused the Cathar woman so much pain.  The Cathar lady had always been quiet, standing off to one side while the rest of them indulged in antics aboard the Ebon Hawk.  Someone--usually Noura--had to drag her into the fun.  But she had always been there for Noura, and anyone who came to her.  And she could put a Jedi spin on things with gentleness that made you want to be a better person just to make her happy.  Not at all like Bastila, who tended to lecture.  In fact, Mission pictured her own mother having a temperament similar to Juhani's.  

Belaya nodded.  "I know," she said quietly.  "Juhani and I have been...close...for many years."

"I'm glad she has someone to be close to," Mission said, pulling on her sleeping shift.  "There's too many places in the galaxy where non-humans don't get a break, and our homeworld was one of them."

"You are from Taris?"

Mission nodded.  "It wasn't easy being a non-human on Taris."  Or apparently here, either if Tann Teksa was any measure of things.

Belaya nodded.  "I'm very glad she passed her final test against the Dark Side."

"I care about her a lot, too."  Mission finally went for the direct approach.  "Please don't hurt her."

Belaya stopped in the middle of shrugging on her robe and looked intently at her.  "Something troubles you, child," she said.  "I don't need to be a Jedi to sense that it isn't really Juhani you're worried about."

Mission sniffed at the "child," but stuffed down the kidlike reaction to it.  Belaya probably didn't mean anything by it.  "There are too many people alone in the galaxy," she said finally, thinking of Tann, alone and crazy in the jail cell across town.

Belaya belted her robe.  "I am glad Juhani has returned to the enclave," she said.

Mission gathered up her clothes.  "Noura was worried that Quatra's test was unfair to Juhani."

Belaya bundled her own things and walked with her out of the 'fresher room.  "Noura should know more than most the folly of second-guessing the Masters."

At this, Mission snorted.  "Don't be so quick to judge her.  If she hadn't disobeyed the Masters, Juhani would have ended up tormented by a lot worse than her own temper."

Belaya exhaled a long breath through flared nostrils.  "I cannot deny that some good came of that, yes.  But at what cost?"

Mission suddenly understood why Carth sometimes rolled his eyes and growled when the Jedi came up.  _They do overanalyze things, don't they_, she thought.  She liked Belaya--some instinct told her that the woman had a core of gentleness in her that most people ended up having beaten out of them at an early age.  But Belaya obviously had a problem with Noura's past.  "You might try asking Noura.  She's the one that has all the guilt and none of the memories to go with it."

Belaya took another deep breath.  "I am sorry," she said.  "I didn't mean to offend.  I--have lost loved ones to the Sith of Revan's armada."

Mission sighed.  If word got out and Noura's identity was confirmed, she couldn't walk down a street without having someone come up to her and slap something like that in her face.  While she knew her friend was a strong person, stuff like this would get to the toughest of people eventually.  The light and laughter in her friend's eyes, sooner or later, would blink out under the weight of a hundred thousand other stories just like this one.

They walked together to Mission's room.  Belatedly, she realized Belaya was here for Juhani.  Sure enough, when the door opened, Juhani jumped up.

Belaya stepped forward and stroked her companion's downy cheek with genuine affection.  "You didn't listen to me, did you?"

Juhani looked guiltily away.  Belaya pushed her back into the room.  Mission followed, curious as all get-out.  Noura was there, making notes on a datapad, but she looked up.

"Down," Belaya ordered, pointing Juhani towards the bed.  Mission's eyebrows went up as Juhani complied.  "Now let me see it," she said, holding out her hand.

Juhani placed her arm in her lover's hand.  Belaya's fingers moved over the limb, testing and searching.  

"I told you to treat it gently for the next few days," Belaya said.  "Ligament damage is best left to heal with time, you know that."

"I miss sparring for enjoyment," Juhani said, a blush rippling along her fur.  "I got--carried away."

"Well you won't this evening," Belaya said sternly.

"What are you planning to do?" Mission asked, knowing she probably didn't want to know the answer.

"We're attending an evening lecture on Miraluka Force-diagnosis of disease."

Juhani grinned.  "_You_ are attending the lecture," she said.  "_I_ will be there for the company."

Mission had a sudden brainwave.  "Belaya, you're a healer, right?"  At the other woman's nod, she went on.  "I'm sure your lecture is going to be really fun--" Juhani rolled her eyes at this.  "--but what if there's someone you could be helping right now for real?  Someone who needs a healer and is in a place where she can't get one."

Belaya's eyes narrowed.  Noura and Juhani both turned to look at her as well.  Mission filled them in on the details of Tann Teksa's plight--the constable's refusal to call in the Jedi, and the Twi'lek girl's desperate and terrible confusion.  "I know it's probably too much to ask," she said, "but she's in pain, and that freaky woman doesn't seem to give a rakghoul's ass about it.  It's not fair at all."  She folded her arms.

Beside her, Noura rose off the bed.  "I could--"

"No!"  Juhani and Belaya both said.  

Noura blinked.  "I was going to say that I could persuade this woman to be a little more caring?"  She looked around.  "You guys don't buy that, do you?"

Mission shook her head.  "Noura, you and I ought to stay here.  So should Juhani, if you really want my opinion about it.  There are a lot of people reading the HoloNet.  And Noura, you need to be in good shape for kicking Canderous's butt tomorrow."

Noura slumped back down on her cot.  "Yeah, yeah, I know," she grumbled.  "I'm plotting everybody's happy endings."  She flicked a glance at Juhani and the two women shared a smile.  "I guess," Noura said, "I could let somebody else get them in their places."

"She hates Jedi," Mission warned.  "Carth told me she refused to even consider bringing them in on this."  She made a face.  "I would have thought the governor would want his assistant to get care if she needed it, rather than shoving her into jail and letting her rot."

Belaya's expression saddened.  "It is the job of the Order to act out the will of the Force.  When that doesn't agree with a single person or group's ideas of justice--"  Here, the dark-haired woman carefully avoided looking at Noura.  Noura looked down at her hands, and Mission felt for her friend.  She reached over and squeezed Noura's fingers.

Belaya kept talking.  "--then the Jedi become their enemy for a time, until cooler heads prevail.  The governor did not wish to allow the Jedi Enclave to relocate here."

"He's damn lucky they did," Noura snapped.  "Else he'd be hosting another Sith Academy after that little strike a few days ago."

Belaya smiled faintly, with little humor.  "Perhaps.  Or maybe the past few days would have passed without incident.  Who can say that the Jedi's interest in this system did not prompt the Sith's?"

"The Sith have been here before," Noura challenged.

"And were defeated here as well," Belaya shot back.  "The point is that no one can say for sure whether or not their actions lead to various consequences.  But it is our duty to act according to the will of the Force."

"This is not the time for that debate, and wiser souls than ours have debated to fruitless ends this very thing," Juhani said sharply.  Both Belaya and Noura looked chastened.

Noura offered the other woman a thin smile.  "Maybe you could disguise yourself."

Belaya nodded.  "I am not well-known," she said.  "I can pass myself off as a healer from the hospital."

"I have a better idea," Mission said, reaching for her datapad.  Give me a few minutes and I can have you docs and transfer orders from the space station prison."

Belaya frowned.  So did Juhani.  Noura, however, patted her shoulder and said, "Good thinking, Little Blue."

Belaya protested.  "That isn't right," she said.  "We should pursue this through legal channels."

Mission felt the chance slipping away.  "No!" she said quickly.  "You don't understand!  This girl doesn't have anybody to fight for her."  She reached up and stroked her own lekku, remembering the desperate and horrified way Tann's head-tails contorted themselves.  "She needs help, and the rules won't help her!"

Noura's face turned serious and she scooted closer to Mission, putting her arm around her shoulder.  "Hey," she said softly.  "It's okay.  We'll do this."  She shot a glance at Belaya.  "I trust Mission's instincts completely.  If she says the girl's innocent, then she's innocent."

Juhani protested.  "We should investigate further."

Noura cut her off.  "The Enclave can hold her, can't they?  Do your investigating after she's out of danger."

Belaya sighed.  "I can see that you will do this whether or not I agree."  At Noura's nod, she shrugged.  "Very well."

Mission impulsively hugged the Jedi.  "Oh, thank you!  I promise you won't regret it."

"I will accompany Belaya unobtrusively," Juhani said.  "No one will see me unless I want them to."

Mission didn't like it, but Juhani's people were good enough at sneaking around that they didn't need stealth emitters--and therefore wouldn't be susceptible to people who had stealth jammers.  "Be safe," she said.  "And thanks."

She and Noura talked for a while about what the next day would bring.  Noura was surprised to learn that other people had taken an interest in Yavin 13.  "This is going to be a zoo," she muttered.  Mission agreed.  

Noura finally laid down to go to sleep, muttering about Mandalorians and their penchant for melodrama.  She stayed still until Noura was silent in the bed next to hers.  Then she crept out of the room they shared.  

She padded down the darkened hallways in search of the kitchens.  Before Borx's "offer" had become a demand, Noura's opinion made her think that maybe fame had a power of its own.

She reached the kitchens and programmed the food synthesizer for a sandwich.  While she waited for the unit to produce, she thought about possibilities.  Her sandwich appeared and she took it from the dispenser tray and stared at it.  She sort of wished Bastila was around.  She'd been famous ever since the war with the Sith started because of her Battle Meditation.  She'd know how to act like a person everybody watched.

She slammed the sandwich plate down on the counter in sudden frustration.  Damn Borx'amatto for cornering her!

"The food here isn't that great, I'll admit.  But it's not the food's fault."

She whirled.  Dustil Onasi stood behind her, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.  "Zim's holey underwear!  You scared the bantha poodoo out of me!"

"Sorry," he said.  She tensed, afraid he'd come closer.  She really didn't want to have to throw her sandwich at him to keep him back.  She took a defensive bite just in case she did have to use it as a projectile weapon, and made a face.  The bread was chewy and the vegetables were soggy and the meat had a canned aftertaste to it.  Maybe she'd taken a wrong turn and ended up in the weapons depot instead of the kitchen, because this thing would definitely serve the Jedi better as something lobbed towards, or inflicted upon, the enemy.

"One of the things I really miss about the academy on Korriban is the food.  They had really great food," Dustil said conversationally.

"I guess the threat of being executed makes a chef outperform himself," she retorted.

He came into the room.  She edged along the counter warily.  "What's keeping you up?" she asked finally.

He rolled his eyes.  "My dad's a bad actor."

"Huh?"

"He kept trying to fake sleep to get me to go to sleep.  I think he wanted to sneak out and go find Revan."

Against her will, Mission laughed.  She latched on the change of subject, grateful for anything that kept her from thinking about her present predicament.  "Noura was trying to do the same thing, but she really fell asleep.  Besides, HK will never let him into our room.  I think that droid has an unhealthy fixation on his mistress."

"Everything that droid does is unhealthy," Dustil said.  "Listen--" he stretched out a hand towards her.

The jungle, green darkness and betrayal, slammed a wall down in front of her.  "No," she said firmly.  She suddenly saw the benefit of taking up Jev Secura's offer.  Training like that would keep her from ever being caught off-guard again.  Too bad Borx had her by the head-tails.  "Just shut up about that," she said.  She was all right if she could put it out of her mind, pretend it didn't happen.

"Okay," he said warily.  "Only you're going to have to listen to me one day."

"Not today," she said sharply.  "Not even this _year_, Dustil Onasi."  She wrapped her arms around her waist and her head-tails lashed angrily.  "Do the Masters know about your secret stash of Sith souvenirs?  I wonder how they'd react to knowing their new poster boy keeps mementos from his old life."  

"My Sith--"  His brows snapped down in a frown.  "How do you know about that?"

She frowned.  "I have my ways."  _And I'm not the only one who knows_.  If it weren't for Carth and his need to trust that his son wasn't a rotten kinrath egg, she'd--

She sighed inwardly.  She'd still have protected him, because it was nobody else's business.

His chin jutted out.  "My Master is aware of my...extracurricular activities."

"Really?" she said flatly.

"Indeed I am," he said in a somnolent voice.  She blinked.  Dustil had drawn himself up out of the indolent slouch she usually saw him in and stood centered.  He radiated a calm, a peace touched with faint amusement and much sadness.  "The Jedi do not make it a practice to scorn the repentant.  Your friend Revan is testament to their faith in second chances, is she not?"

She backed away, freaked right out of her head-tails.  "You--you're not Dustil," she said.  "I mean--gah.  It's even weirder up close."

Dustil sighed and suddenly he was--Dustil again.  "You have no idea," he said wryly.  "Do you honestly think I could keep secrets from somebody living inside my own head?  And a Jedi Master at that?"

She licked her lips nervously.  "I don't know anything anymore," she said.  "I guess you got problems enough."  She cocked her head to one side.  "Good.  I think I like that."

He raised his eyebrows.  She stared at her abandoned sandwich.  "So are you going with us to Yavin 13 tomorrow?" 

He nodded.  "I'm helping my dad with the Mandalorian culture stuff."  He pointed to the plate.  "You gonna eat that?"

She shook her head.  She didn't feel like eating anymore.  Maybe she never would again.  "Knock yourself out.  Literally," she added, just in case he felt like he was making headway over her attitude.

"Kind of funny that the one Jedi with the talent for Battle Meditation is being proposed to by a war-mongering Mandalorian," Dustil said, and took a bite of the sandwich.

She nodded reluctantly.  "It'd be a worse disaster if Canderous _didn't _have an overinflated sense of Mandalorian honor," she said.  "The Mandalorians we ran into on Kashyyyk and Dantooine and the Rakata homeworld were a bunch of scumbags who mugged farmers and unarmed people while they wore stealth emitters."  She twitched her head-tails.  "Drove Canderous nuts every time we heard another story about raiders.  He practically frothed at the mouth over it.  But I can tell you, it ain't her Battlemind he kidnapped."  She snickered.

She wondered if Bastila had always had to deal with the possibility that somebody would try to use her one way or another because of her special gift.  Mission suddenly felt a lot more sympathy for Bastila's fall to the Dark Side.  The Jedi had used her, too, and they were supposed to be her family.  She put a hand over her mouth.  "Ack," she said.

"What?" he said thickly, around the sandwich.

Her upper lip curled wryly.  "I just realized that it's a really bizarre, effed-up universe we live in when Canderous Ordo is the only being sensitive enough to want Bastila for who she is and not for what she can do for his army."  Her shudder rippled all the way down into the tips of her head-tails.  "I think I'd rather see Malak without his metal jaw than have to look at Canderous and think he's Mister Sensitive."  She stared at a blank spot on the far wall.  

Dustil stood next to her and she felt the shiver go through him as well.  He set down the half-eaten sandwich.  "You hang out with the creepiest people," he said.

"Said the ex-Sithboy.  You're expecting me to argue?"

"I don't know Bastila that well, but I know what I heard at the Academy.  The Sith wanted her really bad.  Or someone like her."  He turned to look at Mission straight on.  "There were--tests--that new recruits went through, to see if they had the gift, or if it could be..._encouraged _to manifest."

Her eyes widened and she could only imagine what some of those sickos could come up with to try and rip a Force-talent out of somebody.  "Eurgh.  But that isn't what has me worried," she said.  

"What's your worry, then?" he asked.

She sighed.  In the absence of Noura, Carth, or Big Z, Dustil would have to do.  "There are four cruisers bound for this sector as we speak."

"So what?  Since when did you get interested in space traffic control?"

"Since those four cruisers hail from the way Outer Rim.  Places like, oh, _Concord Dawn_?  And _Ordo_?"

Dustil's posture changed and Mission stiffened.  She peered at him.  "You're Master Nayal, aren't you?"

He nodded.  "Tell me, child, what worries you about this."

She closed her eyes.  She couldn't look at Dustil and not see, well, Dustil.  But if she closed her eyes, she could picture somebody like Master Vrook.  Somebody smart and wrinkly, not smart_ass_ and charming.  "This is a family thing," she began hesitantly.  "It's nobody else's business but ours and Canderous's and Bastila's.  Noura's going to have to fight Canderous over this.  He won't let her get away with not fighting, and I'm not that sure she's going to let him win.  It won't be a fair fight, not with her Jedi powers, and Canderous is too stupid to know when to quit.  He'll kill himself over it."  And Borx would be there, like a scavenger over a corpse, just ready to smear it all over the holos like some sordid scandal.  Sudden tears pricked the backs of her closed eyelids.  Gah, crying over Canderous of all people.  She was pathetic.  "I think those cruisers are full of Mandalorians, coming to find the Dark Lord Revan to get revenge on her for killing their leader.  It just all--" she searched for a suitably strong word, "--_sucks_."

Beside her, Master Nayal chuckled.

"And worst of all," she added, "The Masters won't even go to bat for Bastila.  They're leaving everything up to her.  This is going to be an intergalactic incident, and they're just sitting back here twiddling their thumbs like it's somebody else's problem."

He put a hand on her arm.  "The Jedi and the Mandalorians have a long and knotted history that doesn't simply end in the here and now.  There are forces at work that are so subtle, their effects will not begin to show until you and I are long-gone and turned into spacedust."  

She opened one eye and risked a look at him.  "Do you always just fade in and out like that, Dustil?" she said crossly.

He nodded.  "Master Nayal knows a bit about Mandalorians, and he seems to believe these Mandalorians aren't coming to kill Noura.  They're coming to follow her."

"And you find that comforting?" she asked incredulously.  _Borx'll have a field day with that one_.  Noura would be lynched.  The Devaronian was right in saying there was going to be a lynch mob after them within days.  Maybe she could find some ways to sic the Mandalorians on him.

That still left Griff's fate undecided, though.

"Hells no!" He shot back.  "I find it better than the alternative.  And it gives us something to work with."  Dustil's gaze turned inward for a minute and he whispered fiercely.  "_Yes, I know you don't approve...yeah, so what?  You know what you can do with your prophecy, too...I _am _listening to my feelings...would you just _go away_, already?_"

Mission folded her arms.  "Are you two done in there?"  She didn't know if her situation would be better or worse if she had a Jedi Master living in her head.

Dustil's expression cleared.  "Sorry.  We can usually keep things internal, except when it's something we feel strongly about.  The Master doesn't approve where my thoughts are going, but I'm the one with the body."  He grinned.  "And I have an idea that just might solve all our problems in one shot.  But I need your help to sell it to Revan."

"I thought the Jedi weren't going to interfere?" she said.

"They aren't," he said.  "But I'm not a full Jedi."  He looked at her.  "Are you?"

Against her will and her good sense, the corner of her mouth turned up.  "Do you see any lightsabers?"

He smiled.  "Good.  Now what we need is a helmet, a Sith mask, and a big robe..."

* * *


	81. Unexpected

Unexpected

Bastila

The idiot!  The mad, arrogant, careless idiot!  I could expect something like this from Zaalbar, whose youthful Wookieeness could explain the need to hunt dangerous animals with his bare hands, and whose youthful Wookieeness would also protect him sufficiently.  I expected better from Canderous.  I expected smarter.

I did not expect him to lead me to the speeder and drive me out to the very mesa I'd been eyeing earlier in the day, but that was indeed what he did.  "I noticed you looking at the rocks," he said simply.

He parked the speeder at the base of the mesa.  The dry and rocky ground went from flat to a steep grade up the side of the rock formation, and he led me up the incline to the base of the bare rock.  It was warm from a day's worth of sun, and tiny lizards scurried in and out of small holes as we passed.  He took me to a thick growth of scrub and shoved it aside to reveal the mouth of a cave.  "The outside of this mesa is a sheer wall.  We don't have the equipment to climb it, but I found that the rock is mostly hollow.  This cave system leads to an exit about two meters from the top table.  Are you game for a little spelunking?"

During the drive out, I was able to sink far enough into Force-trance to accelerate my healing rate.  My wounds were still tender, but almost completely healed, so I nodded my head.  The caves proved fascinating.  They appeared to have been formed by water erosion--at some point in the planet's past, water had seeped into the rock of the mesa and worn grooves and tunnels into the softer, inner material of the formation.  The caves were no longer even damp, but an underground spring bubbled up from one of the lowest branches, and Canderous crouched to drink.  I knelt down beside him and refilled my water canteen, taking the time to splash a little on my face.  

He hadn't said much on the journey, nor did he fill the silence between us now with idle chatter--idle chatter and Canderous were yet another example of mutually exclusive.  He pointed out an interesting formation, or a hand or toehold as we began to ascend.  I grew nervous and realized that he radiated a kind of calm that I would have expected more from a Jedi than a Mandalorian.  The physical exertion kept me from becoming trapped too heavily in my own thoughts, and the ascent steepened enough for me to simply focus on finding the next likely place to climb.  Several instances left me gaping at the tight places Canderous was able to fit us through--places I swear his shoulders were too broad to fit, or that the twisting bends of hollow rock turned too sharply for anything but an agile snake to navigate.  But Canderous never failed to surprise me.  Occasionally, he would stretch his arm down and offer me one large hand to navigate a stretch between footholds for which I hadn't the height.

Finally, we emerged onto a small, flat natural landing and daylight.  "Here," he said, pointing upward.  We were on a small ledge about two meters down from the main part of the mesa top.  He unslung his backpack and tossed it up to land on the ground above us, then began his ascent.  I followed suit, and it occurred to me that my hands were filthy, my nails cracked and broken, and my body sore from exertion, yet I felt at peace.  My Jedi powers might have been strong enough to levitate both of us, but I found a challenge in finding the small crevasses where I might wedge a few fingers or the toe of one shoe and use that tenuous hold to drag myself just that much higher.  And I was rewarded when I finally heaved my body over onto the top of the mesa.

The view was incredible.  We could see for kilometers, the vast emptiness of the plain around us.  Other mesas dotted the landscape, like giant, table-topped islands in a sea of clear air and wide-open space.  "The ambassador is fortunate indeed to have this place," I said softly, delighting in the feel of the wind on my face.  At this height, it blew steady and brisk, and goosebumps danced out on my bare arms.

Behind me, Canderous opened the pack.  I turned to help him, and we began to set up the equipment he'd brought.  We worked in concert and had set up most of the equipment needed for a picnic before I thought to note that we were working together seemingly without effort.

_It's not so unusual_, I told myself.  We had been quest companions for months.  _And lovers for weeks_, my conscience prodded me.  No, I corrected myself.  I could not call our physical relationship something so intimate.  I had considered it a business arrangement, almost.  Preventive measures to keep my dark side in check.  I put him in front of my darkness like a blast shield in front of a laser cannon.  How could something with such a shameful beginning be even remotely associated with love?

Not for the first time, I experienced a renewed sense of guilt for having sought him out.  I shouldn't have run from the Force.  I should have meditated more, or busied myself with martial arts exercises or repainted the interior of the _Stella Arcos_.

How could I not have seen that he would invade me as surely as his people had invaded the Republic?

* * *


	82. Challenge and Consequences

Challenge and Consequences

Canderous

The small smile on her lips made me realize that after our seclusion, I'd have to admit to Onasi that he was right.  

"She's not Mandalorian," he'd said to me.  "She probably won't...appreciate your efforts on that front."

I'd ignored him at the time.  It didn't matter that Bastila wasn't Mandalorian.  I was the one conducting the Bridal Raid.  But Carth didn't let that stop him from giving me advice.  "Listen.  Bastila's not exactly the warmest person in the galaxy--" I'd smirked at this. He had no idea.  "--But if push comes to shove, you might try doing something nice for her."

"_Nice?_"  I sneered.  As if going to all this trouble to prove myself capable to her in the manner of my people wasn't effort enough.  Besides, I wasn't and never claimed to be a _nice_ person, and she certainly hadn't expected _nice_ from me at any point in our relationship.

"Yeah," he said.  "I'd say take her to dinner, but since you'll be in the middle of nowhere, a picnic might have to do."

"A picnic?"  My disdain must have been obvious.

He laughed.  "Yeah, a picnic.  With a blanket, and some pretty scenery."

I shook my head.  Cantina wenches were refreshingly uncomplicated.  But I wasn't trying to win the heart of a cantina wench.  "And this works with Republic women?"

He grinned.  "Did wonders with Morgana.  How do you think Dustil got here?  Make sure you save the messy food for later in the picnic."

I grimaced.  I did not want to know that much about him.  Now it irked me that he'd been right.  Bastila seemed to be enjoying the view, and we sat side by side in silence while the wind blew across the top of the mesa and the sun turned orange.  I remembered Bastila glaring at me in the bathhouse, and asking why she shouldn't take my head off at the shoulders for being there.  Now I actually wondered why she hadn't.  

The logical answer to that was that she didn't want to take my head off.  Which led to more questions I didn't know how to ask.

"Why me?" I asked abruptly, breaking the silence between us.  "Why did you come to me on the _Stella Arcos_?"

She didn't answer for a long while.  When she finally did, her blue-green eyes met mine.  "I--"  Her gaze took on a faraway look.  "I knew you could--give me what I needed," she said softly.  She turned to look at the vista around us.  The wind played havoc with her hair, whipping the thick ponytails against her upper back.  I reached out and yanked the ties at their ends, setting her hair free to blow around her shoulders.  There was a tremor in her voice when she spoke again.  "I needed to hurt, and I knew you knew how to do that."

I nodded, my jaw tense, even though she couldn't see me.  The man I used to be wouldn't have given a womprat's ass about the whys, only that there was a willing woman with a need I could meet.

"There is a--dark seed inside me.  For too long, I believed it was something left of the old Revan when we first bonded, when I was with the strike team that boarded her flagship."  Her voice took on a bemused tone as if she'd forgotten I was there.  "And then I believed it was something Malak planted in me.  I fought against the idea that it belonged to me, that it was a part of me.  I was--I was raised by the Order, I lived my life at the very heart of the light, how could I have a taint like that?"  A small, mocking laugh escaped her.  "And you--you seethe with darkness, wear it like armor.  You fight with burning passion and emotionless calculation--how do you do that?  You seem to revel in darkness, but it does not rule you."

I sighed.  "You Jedi sit in your towers and talk of moral absolutes, while the rest of us live in the real galaxy.  We do good things, we do bad things.  We're proud, and we--regret."  I still mourned Jagi's death.  He was a good warrior, and I often wondered how many other good warriors of our clans, robbed of purpose, had let their own regrets poison their honor, reduce them to brutes lost in tunnel-vision that only focused on the dead past.  I mourned the loss of Mandalore, the greatest and wisest of us.  I mourned what I had almost become, working for Davik on Taris.

"It is different for a Jedi," she said.  "I would think you would have learned after the Star Forge that when a Jedi falls, the entire galaxy suffers."  She lowered her head.  "My fall--hurt so many.  Destroyed so many.  You cannot imagine what that feels like."

"Maybe I can't," I said, staring out at the stark landscape.  The shadows of the rock formations stretched clean-edged patches of darkness over the bare ground.  "But I know that letting the guilt consume you from inside doesn't make a damn bit of difference about what's already done.   

Though I will never understand about your Jedi Code," I said.  "Anger is useful.  Rage is an ally.  Fury strengthens your sword.  Passions make a better fighter out of you."

"No!" she said hotly.  "Passions make you sloppy.  Strike in anger and you cannot detach yourself from the battle, you can't see the openings you leave for your enemy.  Strike in rage and you remove your choice."

I snorted in contempt.  "Spoken like one who fears her anger and is intimidated by her passions," I said.  "When you could let your anger lend you the strength to swing your sword that much harder, let your rage give quickness to your actions, and let your fury burn away the clouds from the battle plan so you can see a new and better way of making sure you win.  You can use your darker emotions the same way you use the lighter ones.  Use them to fuel your actions, not direct them."

"And when rage overcomes me?  When I strike at a friend whom my rage has convinced me is really a foe?  When my arrogance convinces me that my way is the only way, and the rest of the galaxy must follow?"  Her voice trembled.   "I fell," she said bluntly.  "I gave in to my anger, my rage, my resentment, and people died.  Because of me.  There is no denying that."

"You weren't the first," I said.  "And you won't be the last.  You came back," I pointed out.

"Revan dragged me back," she snapped, wrapping her arms around herself.  "I nearly pulled her down with me."

I hated to hear her lie to herself.  "So you never wanted to return to the Jedi?" I said, unable to keep the mocking edge out of my voice.  "Do you want a lift back to Korriban, then?"

"You mock me," she said tightly, anger in her voice.

"You lie to yourself," I said.  "You came willingly back to the Jedi."

"Revan saved me.  Damned me and saved me."  Her hands clenched into fists.

I made a _pssht_ sound.  "Revan held the door for you.  You walked through it under your own power."  Her refusal to take credit for her own redemption baffled me.  Arrogance is one thing, and she's got her share of it, but she isn't stupid.  One of many traits that make her a fine woman.

"I was supposed to die for my crimes!" She exploded, rising to her feet.  She turned on me, her eyes flashing.  "Revan should have granted me that boon at least!  She refused.  Denied me rightful justice.  I hate her for that, and I hate myself for hating her, and I hate her for making me hate myself!"  The winds that constantly blew around the top of the mesa began to center around her.  

The blanket I sat on lifted from the ground around me as I sprang to my feet.  The hair on the back of my neck rose.  "Touched a nerve, did I?" I asked, fully aware that she might just use the Force to knock me right off the mesa.  But at least my point would be made.

She snarled.  "How dare you!  You have no idea how difficult it is to suppress my emotions!  You have no idea how important it is for me to do it."  She launched herself at me, suddenly in my face faster than I could track her movement.

The thrill of danger galvanized me into a defensive battle stance.  I stared down into her flashing eyes.  "You control your emotions, not the other way around," I said.  Damn the Jedi and their morality again.  "I'm no Jedi," I said to her.  "The Dark Side and the Light Side mean little to me.  Both Jedi and Sith fight, and kill.  What makes one side Light and the other Dark?"

"Jedi fight when there is no other choice," she shouted over the winds.

"There is always a choice," I shot back.  My heart suddenly started beating double-time.  " Your damn Council would have you kill yourself over your own humanity," I spat, breathing heavily.  "All over some arbitrary line in the dirt."

"You have no bloody idea what you're talking about!" Her hands, tensed at her sides, curled into claws.

"Don't I?" I challenged her, taking deep lungfuls of air.  "I know honor, and strategy, and glory.  I know how to fight a good fight.  Am I an assassin, or am I a soldier?  It depends on who you ask."  I ended in a fit of coughing.

"We fight with the Force," she said.  "The Force fights _with_ a true Jedi."

"And what's--the Force--telling you right now?" I asked.  "Is it telling you to take a shot at me?"  I spread my arms.  "Go ahead, if it'll--make you--feel better."

"How dare you even suggest--"

Darkness crept towards the edges of my vision.  "Then why--" I gasped out, "--can't I breathe?"

* * *


	83. Catharsis

Catharsis

Bastila

Horror at myself, at my actions, robbed me of strength and I dropped to my knees.  The anger that boiled inside me froze.  I stared down at my hands and listened to Canderous gasp for breath.  I'd done it again--dipped into the Dark Side with barely a conscious thought.  "Do you see," I said, my voice rough with uncried tears, "why a Jedi must always guard against the Dark Side?"

He said nothing for a few long minutes, but his breathing grew easier.  Finally, he put a hand on the top of my head.  "You still haven't taken your shot," he said.

"What?"

"Come on," he said, lifting me to my feet by my upper arms.  I went without protest.  "I'm giving you a rare opportunity--a free shot at me.  You'd better take it before I change my mind."

"You are insane!"  I shouted at him.  My voice echoed in the clear air and open space.

"And you need a good fistfight," he said.  "How long have you been sitting on that anger at Revan?"  He shook his head.  "Even after your fall, you still go right back to your old tricks."

"I--"  By the Force, was he right?  The words of the Jedi Code automatically leaped to my mind.  _There is no emotion, there is peace_.  Never before had they sounded so hollow.  I wanted to hit, to hurt, and I couldn't deny it.  My "old tricks," as he called them, were failing me.  

"Take a swing," he said.  My fingers curled into fists and I was tempted.  He raised an eyebrow.  "I figure I owe you one for bringing you here.  You won't get another chance."

It would serve him right if I did wipe that arrogant smirk off his face.  But I had never been strong in hand-to-hand combat, and even though I was angry--furious--I didn't simply want to lash out with fists.  I wanted to be better than blind fury.

He leaned down and straightened the blanket we'd been sitting on, and patted the space beside him.  "You don't need the answers now," he said.  "Just ask the questions."

I dropped down beside him, suddenly drained.  I took several deep breaths to steady myself.  The anger and rage still simmered in my heart and I was no longer able to deny their existence, however subdued it was.  I needed a master desperately right then, someone to help me understand and tell me what to do.  "I wish I were back at the Enclave right now," I said.  Yet as soon as I said the words, I realized they weren't exactly true.  In fact, they were the opposite of true.  The last place I wanted to be was in front of the Masters, with my emotions as out of control as they were.  Not because the Masters would treat me harshly or punish me--Jedi Masters do not engage in that sort of judgment.  No one is beyond redemption in the eyes of the Council.

He sat cross-legged on the blanket and began cracking crab-nuts with his fingers, tossing the shells out to sail on the wind over the edge of the mesa.  "You're right to be wary of your dark side," he said after a time of silence.  "What drives me up a wall is hearing you insist that you need someone else around to control you.  That you're somehow not strong enough to control yourself."

"How can you say that?"  I shook my head.  "When just moments ago I nearly killed you without a thought!  For a Jedi that has tasted the Dark Side, that temptation is always present.  I will never again be able to so much as enter negotiations with a shopkeeper without worrying whether or not his bargaining skills will tempt me to crush his windpipe because I can't eliminate my emotions!"

"If you can't eliminate them, then learn to live with them."  So simple for him to say.

"Remarkably like dealing with certain Mandalorians," I retorted, feeling a small measure of calm at his laugh.  We drifted back into silence again, and my mind wandered back to our exchange on the Ebon Hawk.  I hadn't been able to suppress the desire I felt for him when he kissed me.  Instead, it somehow flowed through and around me, affecting me, yet not controlling me.  Why could I then not do the same with anger and rage?  In spite of Canderous's confidence in me, I needed a master.  _What are you, Bastila Shan?_ The planet had asked me.  I still had no better answer.  I am a Jedi.  And not a very good one at the moment.  What more is there to me?

"My homeworld has a mountain chain in the northern hemisphere that separates the desert from the high plains.  It is said that when an Ordo warrior dies, his spirit goes to the mountains to battle the winds back from the farmlands.  When a warrior seeks wisdom, he goes to the mountains to listen to his ancestors."

The insight into Mandalorian mysticism set my world on its ear.  I risked a glance at him while stretching out my feelings into the Force.  He burned, steady and strong as ever, any ill effects from my unconscious outburst long-healed by his implant.  He handed me the pile of crab-nuts he'd shelled.  I bit into one.  The taste made me think of the jungle.  Crab-nuts were native to Yavin 4, and the sound of the shells crunching underfoot as Canderous, Carth, and I made our way into the valley outside the settlement had reminded me of the snap of brittle bones.  

I stared out over the desert plain and listened to the crack of crab-nut shells.  "On the Leviathan, Admiral Karath placed us in torture cells," I said.  The wind swirled around my shoulders and through my hair.  Down on the rocky flats below, the shadows from the mesas that dotted the landscape like solemn behemoths lengthened.  "Lord Malak preferred more--personal forms of torture."  

I held up my hand and stared at it like a stranger's in the light of the setting sun.  The fingers were long and slender, if a little dirty, the short nails making half moons just above my fingertips.  Blue veins traced a faint pattern beneath my skin, and beneath the veins and nerves and muscle rested my bones.  "Malak broke me with my own fingers," I said.  It seemed like it happened to some other person, a Bastila out of time and place.  "A week of torture I'd endured.  He drained my life, invading my memories repeatedly, and I stood fast."  Emotions surged and swelled inside me, but I observed them from afar, an interested spectator.  The dam holding them back trembled.  "Then, one day he changed strategy.  It was the intelligent thing to do, and quite frankly, I'm surprised it took him so long, but then Revan was always the strategist of the two.  That day--or session, I suppose, since I wasn't sure of the days by then--he came to me and took my hand in his."  

I stared at that same hand now.  "He broke my fingers with his own hands, snapped the bones in them one by one.  After the first two, I would have given anything not to feel that tiny, exquisite pain.  Not to hear that awful snap."  By eight, I became confused.  Disoriented.  "I'd been a week feeling Force-lightning of all degrees, and I no longer knew what pain felt like, I'd been exposed to so many levels of it."  I risked a glance at him.  He met my eyes steadily, only a slight tension in his jaw betraying any emotion on his part.  

I shifted my gaze back out to the plains.  "I thought I was out of the woods.  Pain stopped meaning anything to me, and I stopped trying to avoid it.  But when he broke my fingers, it came rushing back, and brought with it the hatred and rage that pushed me over the edge into darkness." I shook my head.  "I don't understand why.  It was only broken fingers.  I should have been stronger."  The familiar arguments rose in my throat.

Canderous took my hand in his large, rough one.  "Any good interrogator knows the key to breaking a person isn't in inflicting pain."  He traced the backs of my fingers with his index finger.  "It's increasing sensitivity.  Manipulating sensation to produce the desired responses.  And the desired reaction of the subject to those responses."  He looked at me again.  His eyes were the flat gray of a stormy sky.  "Just like sex," he said bluntly.

Shame returned to batter at the outward calm I so wanted to project.  I already knew that going to him the way I did was wrong, but the way he spoke now made me realize exactly what I had been looking for with him.  The lines between pain and pleasure had been ripped out of me by Malak.  I was looking for a line that no longer existed and using Canderous to push me over an edge I didn't have.  Trying to break myself the way Malak had broken me.  To bleed the passions out of myself until there was nothing left to impede the Jedi serenity that always seemed just out of my reach.

Instead, I awakened a need, fed a hunger that grew and mutated until it became just as much a part of me as my lightsaber and just as my saber was inexorably tied to the Force, so was this part of me tied to Canderous.  I--

A shock ran cold through the deepest part of me, the secret part that faced myself and saw not the Jedi mask, but the confused and imperfect and difficult part of me that failed to grasp that Jedi serenity but embraced my weaknesses because they were my own.  The part that had been silenced for too long.  The part that I didn't understand because I had denied its existence.  It was that part of me that acknowledged what the rest of me could not.

_I trusted him._

* * *


	84. Thrill of the Hunt

Thrill of the Hunt

Canderous

The thrill of the hunt had kept my mind in the present, the dance between hunter and prey made me think like a warrior instead of a strategist.  I suddenly faced a gap in strategy.  For all of my strict adherence to the old ways, nothing could hide the fact that they were devoid of significance.  

I hunted for her, promised her a fine clanhold, would fight for the honor to take her to wife, yet all my efforts amounted to nothing without her consent.  And unless she reconciled her passions--her humanity--with her Jedi code, she would not be free to make a true choice either way.  And I would not trade her slavery to the Jedi code for slavery to me.  A mate with a collar around her neck is a slave, not a wife, and only a wife could be trusted with the future of the clanhold.  I had neither use nor want of a slave.  

Yet my path had been set, and I would continue its course, even to my own destruction.  "Tomorrow I will fight Revan for you," I said.  "And I will win."  I needed her to understand.  

"Your battle is not with Revan," she said.  "It is the Council that will have the final say, and you know what their answer will be."

"It is not the Council that has a bond with you," I said.  "Revan went up against the Council for you.  She claimed your kinship on the Star Forge--or did you forget that?"  Revan's declaration, relayed to the crew of the Hawk by Bastila herself, had evaporated my last doubt about following her.  In declaring as she did, that woman won my loyalty more completely than anyone or anything since Mandalore himself.

Bastila's lower lip trembled.  "I should hate you for the doubts you create in me.  You expose my weakness, and call it strength."  The wind blew her hair into her face.

I captured the waving strands between my fingers and pushed them out of her face.  The glare of the setting sun burned my eyes.  "You have no idea," I said, "how magnificent you are.  Thick as Permacrete--but magnificent."

If I didn't think Revan--and most of the Republic--would tear me to pieces for it, I would have tossed a thermal detonator into those chambers on Yavin 4 right now if it meant there was a chance of keeping those meddling mystics from damaging her any further.  I don't find it at all odd that every Sith Lord that raises an army goes after the Jedi Council with extreme prejudice.

"You asked me to make you shatter," I said.

She nodded.  

"I tried," I said flatly.  Once I knew what she wanted from me that first time, I hadn't held back.  I pushed her to where I thought her limit lay, and she demanded more.  A manner I would expect from a Mandalorian woman, not a Republic Jedi.  Her endurance still surprised me, in spite of her build.  "Tempered durasteel is not brittle and neither are you.  I would have broken a brittle woman."

She closed her eyes and I saw a visible shudder pass through her.

"I didn't show you mercy," I said finally, lest she believe I'm a better man than I am.

"Perhaps I sensed that about you," she said, still staring out at the blaze of the setting sun as it bounced off the underside of the gas giant hanging in the sky.  "Perhaps I sensed that you would not--coddle me with sympathy and understanding, or non-judgmental disappointment over having fallen.  The Council waited, ready and eager to assist me back to the light, but I needed to...experience consequences, I suppose.  You were the only one I could trust to do that."  Now she turned to face me.  "But I am sorry that I made you little more than an instrument of my own punishment."

I smiled wryly.  "My pleasure.  And it was."  Her admission of trust was not lost on me, in spite of the absent way she spoke of it.

She looked down.  "It was...mine, as well."  She looked back up at me, a sudden flash in her eyes.  She leaned towards me, the sinking sun setting her hair ablaze to match the fire in her eyes.  The warrior woman at the heart of her came forth.  "And I fail to understand why, but it still is."  

"I wanted you to break me," she said, staring down at the blanket for a moment before looking up at me again.  "Instead you make me melt."  I couldn't miss the surge of hot hunger in her eyes.

"Not in the mood you're in," I said, leaning away from her.  I would no longer be the whip with which she beat herself.

I suddenly felt a solid push from behind and found myself on top of her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded, still feeling the pressure from the Force push she'd used on me.

"You offered me a free shot," she replied calmly.  "I'm taking it."  Her lips curved up in a woman's knowing smile.

By Mandalore's sword arm--when she talked that way...  "I meant," I ground out from behind clenched teeth as the heat of her body under mine short-circuited my ability to reason, "for you to take a swing at me."

She stroked a single fingernail down the side of my cheek.  "You didn't say I had to fight fair."

Desire makes fools of us all.  Three days I'd spent secluded with her--three days in which I fought and hunted for her, and like a good Mandalorian, pursued a deeper understanding of the meanings of clanhold and family.  Three days, I held myself away from her, the test of my endurance insignificant in the face of my need to change the dynamic of our relationship.  "Bastila--"

She used the Force and her legs--strong, slender limbs--to flip me over onto my back and straddled me.  She ran her hands from my shoulders, over my chest, down to my stomach and beneath my shirt.  I closed my eyes and sought strength of purpose.  Several seconds later, I managed to take her wrists in my hands.

She brought her arms up sharply, in a move designed to break my grip, and freed herself.  "Bastila," I said again, attempting to ignore the cradle of her thighs around my hips.  I stared up at the clear dusk sky above our heads and tried to count stars.

Her head appeared above me, blocking my view and I lost count at five.  Her blue-green ocean eyes flashed.  "Shut up, Canderous.  Just--shut up and kiss me."

She tried to rush things out of habit, but I refused to let her.  I pulled off each mismatched item of her cobbled-together clothing on my way down, and stopped at each of the faint scars that scored her pale flesh on the way back up.  She glared at me, eyes swimming with impatient need.  "Try to call on some of that vaunted Jedi serenity," I said heartlessly.  I refused to be her punisher--this time, I would be nothing less than her lover.  When her hands fisted in the blanket, she cried out my name.  

The most beautiful sights in the galaxy are seeing your army battle, your enemy surrender, and your woman in your arms, screaming your name and digging her nails into your skin.  In my youth, I never understood why the thrill of battle seemed to fade enough for some of the older warriors to be content to remain with the clanhold and train brats.  My battle career is long and glorious, but I wonder if it hasn't left me a fool for taking so long to figure the rest of it out.

* * *


	85. Identity

A/N:  It's been quite a while since my last update and I do apologize for it.  But I have several good reasons, one of which is that this latest update has ten or eleven chapters, but in the time since the last update, I've written a lot more than just the ten.  I know I've said it before, but things really are winding up, at least for this story.  Maybe one more chunk o' chapters after this one and I'll be typing "the end."

Review thank yous go to: Shadow39, maddaboutjew, Winterfox, daeana, SoloKenobi, VMorticia, BC1, Prisoner 24601, Weirgate, Krazed Kaioshin Fangirl, Ozziegrl, and Crazy-Vasey.  Feza's twin, I hope I answered your question in either email or with some of these chapters. :)  Tim Radley, thank you for the kind words about my mismatched pairing of misfits...your review tells me that I'm accomplishing one of the things I set out to do.  Anonymous-cat, if you think the end of chapter 84 was a little intimate...that's after a LOT of edits g!  Myxale, poor fellow, you got hit with a fanfiction.net bug...when stories take on behemoth status (over 100,000 words), the bot tends to go a little wibbly, but I'm glad to see you back!

Reviews really are the lifeblood of any fanfic writer, and I'm no different.  Every time I see one, I'm thrilled.  I encourage everyone to post reviews to the fics they read.  It doesn't take that much time, and it will make someone else's day.

Now...on with the show!

Identity

Dustil

_This is folly_,his master cautioned him.

_Is it?_ he mentally fired back.  _Or is it just us playing them the way they play us?_  In front of him, Mission knelt by a footlocker.  They'd already sliced through three secure areas, in places of the Jedi Enclave that were actually constructed, rather than just sketched out in fibermesh.  They slouched in a small dark room stacked floor to ceiling with footlockers, crates, storage cylinders, and all manner of junk.

_You take an enormous risk with someone else's identity_.

_But it's my risk to take.  Besides, it's just a costume.  Nobody ever fell to the darkside because of playing dress-up_.

_Do not underestimate the power of perception, my apprentice_.

"Ha!  Busted!"  Mission straightened.  The lid of the footlocker sprang open and she lowered her head to look inside.  "Paydirt," she said.

Dustil peered into the box.  Footlocker XR-18 was the final resting place for a crimson-bladed lightsaber, soft black robes, and an environmental mask.

Mission gulped audibly.  "They still look threatening, don't they?" she asked.  "Even when they're just so much laundry and equipment."

"Not so much," he replied.

"I forgot," she retorted.  "You're used to sleeping with evil."

He clenched his jaw, but said nothing.  Instead, he pulled the robe and mask out of the box.  Underneath it, scattered amongst various datapads and other junk, another object rested. "Hello, what's this?" he said, and reached for the helmet.

It was an ornate, fully armored helm with the characteristic inverted-triangle shape of Mandalorian origin, only instead of the sleek cowl and smoothly rounded top, this helm bore two ridges that ran frm the temples back to the crown, ending in stylized points.

_The helm of Mandalore_,Master Nayal said.  _Rightfully Revan's, considering she defeated him in single combat_.

And the Jedi just stuffed it in a box somewhere, he thought.  He didn't know Canderous Ordo as well as his father did, but Dustil would bet good credits that if Canderous saw this, he'd have a Mandalorian hissy fit.

Thinking of Canderous gave him an idea.  "Let's bring that along, too," he said to Mission.

"The sooner we get out of here, the better," Mission said.  Her head-tails had flattened themselves against her neck and back and she avoided touching Darth Revan's possessions.

"Take Mandalore's Helm, then," he said, gathering up the robes and lightsaber.  When he touched the mask, he couldn't keep his own involuntary shudder from raising goosebumps on his skin.  You can almost hear the screams, he thought.

"This is Mandalore's helm?  _The_ Mandalore's helm?"  Mission said incredulously.  She tucked it under her arm and they moved into the anteroom.  There were still loads of boxes stacked against the walls, but at least they didn't keep brushing up against each other.  "Now as much as I'm gonna hate the next few minutes, why don't you try on your new get-up and we'll see if you can pull this off."

Dustil shrugged out of his Jedi apprentice's over-robe, leaving him clad only in a sleeveless undershirt that barely covered his Sith tattoos and his trousers.  As he reached for Darth Revan's robes, he peeked out of the corner of his eye to see if Mission was looking at his biceps.  She was busy buffing out scuffs in Mandalore's already-shiny helm with her sleeve.

_I have indeed forgotten how trying it is to shepherd the young_.

Dustil gritted his teeth and blushed, hoping Mission continued to not look for at least a few more minutes.  _Nothing like having a five-hundred year old prune inside your head for a buzzkill_, he retorted.  _And I mean that in the most respectful way, Master_.

_Your persistence in pursuing the Twi'lek girl will lead to folly_,Master Nayal warned.

_I'm not pursuing her_, he thought.  _I'm just--there's something about her_.  He put his hand on the Sith robe and suppressed a shudder.  It's just clothes, he thought to himself and pulled the robe over his head.

Mission looked up at him and cocked her head.  "You're taller," she said.

"But Canderous is really tall," she continued.  "So you'll still look short."

He looked down.  The robes, designed to reach Revan's ankles, hung just past his knees.  In some places.  "D'you think you can find a laundry droid to fix this?" he asked, holding up the back left section of the robe.  A long rent separated the fabric, along with a burn-hole the size of his fist near his kidneys.

Mission tentatively poked her finger along the edge of the hole.  "Looks as if Noura's always had the bad luck to get shot in the butt."

Dustil bit his tongue on that one.  "I can wear black pants and boots and nobody will notice.  Especially not with this on."  He held up the mask.  The Y-shaped slit for eyes and breathing was edged with crimson paint.

Mission closed her eyes and turned away.  "It's so hard to believe, isn't it?"

"It's just a mask," Dustil said with a conviction he didn't feel.  He brought the mask to his face and fastened the straps around the back of his head.  He kept his eyes closed while he fumbled with the straps of the mask and the hood of the robe, and when he finally had everything in place, he opened them again.

Amazing, he thought, looking around the anteroom.  _It's like I only see what I need to see--whatever's right in front of me_.  Even breathing seemed more--purposeful when he did it through the mask.  The air whistled faintly around the edges of the breathing slit.  He turned his head to see what Mission thought.  "Well?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed.  "Zim's underwear," she breathed.  "You even sound like a Darth."

"I do?"  He tried to hear it.  "I don't think there's a vox modulator in here."  Come to think of it, his voice did sound deeper, more commanding.  More absolutely sure of himself.  "I bet this thing protects against Force attempts to alter the wearer's mind.  Like a visor, or an electronic interference field, or something."

Mission, he noticed, had edged towards the door to the anteroom.  "Mission," he said, "it's still me underneath here."  Belatedly, he realized that wasn't exactly comforting news to the Twi'lek.  He had, after all, forcibly separated her conscious mind from her body and stuffed it somewhere that made her afraid.

_She needs to just get over that_, a small voice at the back of his head said.  _Toughen up so it doesn't happen again_.  He strode for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"There's a 'fresher just down the hall.  I'm going to see what I look like."

She held up Mandalore's helm.  The hematite-colored metal shone like a dark mirror and he saw himself in it.  "Hell's bells," he muttered.  Even in the distorted reflection of the helm's dark metal, the imposing mask and cowl seemed to suck in the light around it.  The crimson edges of the slits were bright slashes against the darkness.

_That's quite enough, apprentice.  It is time to remove the costume_.

He ignored his Master's voice and opened the door.  Mission stuck her head out from underneath his arm.  "You're clear," she murmured.

He left the room and stalked down the short hall to the 'fresher cubicle.  As he went to shut the door behind him, he almost knocked Mission over.  "What are you doing in here?"

"Keeping you on a short leash, Darth Sithboy."

The mask must have Force magnifying properties.  Every nuance of fear and anger in her tone magnified itself by the time her words reached his ears.  Not only anger and fear, but the layers and essences of the origins of those dark emotions.  Instead of looking at himself, he stared down at her and let his mind taste the elements of her emotions. 

She was mad at him, an anger that went deep and connected to the fear so far down, she couldn't even see it.  He reached out a little with his mind--only to understand better, he would swear to anyone who asked--and coaxed the fear forward.

Her brows knit together.  "What are you looking at?"

"You're afraid of me, aren't you?"  It wasn't a question.  Not when he could taste her fear, sharp and spicy on the back of his tongue. 

At the Sith academy, he'd done extremely well in intimidation tactics.  At the time, he hadn't known he was using the Force to incite fear in his subjects, but it had never been this easy.  He watched, dispassionate, as he stretched out a hand and guided the Force to draw out her fear without effort.

Mission's eyes widened and her body began to tremble.  Her hands curved into claws and her head-tails flattened against her neck.  "D-dustil?"  Her voice quavered. 

Under the mask, he smiled.

She shook her head and reached a shaking hand into her opposite sleeve.  A vibro-dagger appeared and she shook it at him.  "Get back, you--you Sith!"

He reached out a hand and the dagger flew out of hers, spinning in the air to land neatly into his palm.  Around the edges of her eyes, white showed.  She edged closer to the sink.

He laughed.  The sound made a hollow noise inside the mask.  He was caught up in listening to the inherent menace in the laugh and completely missed Mandalore's helm as it flew through the air until it landed square in the middle of his forehead, jarring the mask loose with a hollow clang.

_Enough!_  Master Nayal's tone screamed through his head like a sonic boom and he dropped to his knees with a groan.

Mission's foot connected with his jaw, knocking the mask clean off and suddenly, he was back to being himself.  His face was soaked with sweat and he stared up at Mission.

Her whole body vibrated with fury.  Her head-tails waved and snapped and she bared her teeth, which, he noticed, were quite a bit sharper than human teeth when you really thought about it.

"Thanks for that," he said quietly.  "I think I lost my head for a minute there."

The tension in her banked a little, and she seemed less inclined to slit his throat in the next five minutes.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I mean it.  I--I didn't know what I was doing."

She straightened and folded her arms.  "Great plan you have here."

He suddenly couldn't get out of the robe fast enough.  He wrestled with the soft, voluminous fabric and ended up needing Mission to drag it over his head.  When the air hit his body, the sweat cooled and goosebumps rose all over him.  He shivered.  "That was weird."

"Weird?  Just weird?  Listen, Darth Sithboy, this stuff is dangerous, and if you're too thick-skulled to see it, then I might just have to shave a few centimeters of bone off your cranium to get the message through."  She held out her hand.  "My knife, please."

He looked up in alarm.  "I like my skull the way it is."

She rolled her eyes.  "I need to put it back up my sleeve.  I wouldn't kill you here, anyway.  Too many people would know I did it."

He handed her back the knife, hoping she was telling the truth.  _Master, what happened?_

_I warned you_.

_You didn't warn me it would take me over!_

_Did it?  Did you feel your limbs being manipulated against your will?_

Dustil's stomach clenched as he realized that no, he didn't feel manipulated against his will.  "I think I stepped in the Dark Side," he said quietly.

"If it honks like a queedle and has feather-scales like a queedle, it must be a queedle," Mission said.

"This is a little bit worse than being a mistake in evolution.  And I've never been to Naboo."  Besides, queedles were a galactic joke, the flightless avian lizards' ridiculous appearance and odd habits the source of children's holovid programming and slapstick comedy that guaranteed laughs no matter how diverse the audience.  But what just happened to him didn't make him want to laugh.  Not at all.

Mission's commlink beeped.  She put the unit to her ear.  "Juhani?" She listened to the voice on the other end of the unit and met his eyes.  "Juhani and Belaya are back.  They say there's something we all need to see.  At least, Noura needs to see."

"Well, wherever she is, my dad's probably gonna be there, too," he said.

Mission wrinkled her nose.  "Come on, Darth Sithboy.  We're probably gonna walk in on something neither one of us needs to see, so brace yourself."  She picked up Mandalore's helm and tucked it back under her arm.  "Let's hide this stuff in your room for now."

"I don't want it anywhere near me," he said, shuddering.  "Maybe this was a bad plan."

Mission wrinkled her nose.  "Maybe I can wear it instead.  I'm closer to Noura's size."

"Absolutely not," he said automatically.  "I know what that get-up can do now.  I won't fall for it again."  His tone held a confidence he didn't feel.

_You are susceptible to the Dark Side, my apprentice.  It is part of who you are.  You know this_.

_I just didn't think I could fall so easily, Master_.

_None of us do, Dustil.  None of us do_.

_Now I know, Master.  It won't happen again_.


	86. Tattoo

Tattoo

Revan

Going from dead-asleep to fully aware always puts me in a bad mood.  Usually, it's because the fully-aware part involves someone trying to kill me in my sleep, and me waking up to spoil both their plans and my nap.

I was yanked out of a rather pleasant dream where I was a bantha on Dantooine, rolling in the long grasses and scratching my shaggy hide.  I didn't have a care in the world beyond munching tasty plants, drinking cool water, and thudding to the ground to scratch my itches against a biba tree trunk.  Then I felt someone watching me, and the mellow Dantooine peace evaporated.

The Force leapt at my command, and I'd just about flung out my hand to put my observer in stasis when I felt a tug on a silvery thread.  I sat up in my cot and shook my head.  "Carth?"

"Hey Beautiful." His voice was husky.

I looked around the room, automatically checking for danger--or company--but we were alone.  "Is something wrong?" I asked, testing the Force.  Nope--I felt no danger, just a tightly-coiled tension in the air around us, the same tension we were both well-used to.  There is no passion, my rear end.

Carth confirmed it.  "Nothing's wrong.  I just--"

And then it registered.  Never let it be said that the former Dark Lord is not lightning-quick on the uptake.  We were alone, in what passed for my bedroom, and nobody was trying to kill us.  I flipped my blanket back and patted the narrow bunk.

I'd grown so used to feeling that tension myself I never realized how tight it had become.  "I just can't--don't want to wait anymore," he whispered.

My heart swelled.  "Praise the Force," I said, "It's about damn time."  The cot creaked under his weight as he sat down next to me.  I felt warm skin brush my arm and realized he wasn't wearing a shirt.  I raised an eyebrow in the dim ambient light.  "If you knew how many times on the Ebon Hawk I hoped to see you without a shirt--"

His hand went to his sternum.  The shadow of the Unforgiven tattoo was a dark smudge on his space-pale skin.  "I have to learn to live with this," he said.  "I can't keep pretending it doesn't exist."

I put my hand over his.  "I love all of you," I said.  He'd said the same words to me on Rakata and brought me back from the brink.  "Even the parts that don't trust," I said.

He lifted a hand to run his fingers through the short fringe of my hair, coming to rest on the braids of my topknot.  His other hand came up and he cupped my chin.  "I think it was always myself I didn't trust around you."

I leaned in closer, until the heat from our bodies merged.  Delicious, I thought, as he took me into his arms and lowered his head to mine.  _He feels so delicious to me_.  He nibbled at my lips with quick kisses and flicks of his tongue and I parted my lips to taste him back.

The brush of his hand on my shoulder was so delicate that I jumped nervously.  "Sorry," he murmured between kisses.

"S'okay," I mumbled back.  "I'm just excited."

"You have no idea."  He groaned when my robe slipped off one shoulder and his thumb brushed against one of the many scars that striated my body.  "I've waited so long, and you're so beautiful."

I snorted, glancing down at the scar in question.  "I'm sure the Black Vulkars would be really proud to know they helped make me such a turn-on to you," I said.

"The Vulkars?" he asked.  "How did they get involved in this?"

I rubbed the scar.  "I got this one on Taris, remember?  Just outside the elevator the first time we went down to the Lower City."

He frowned, running his thumb lightly over the squarish knot of raised flesh.  "You had that one when we crashed."

My frown matched his.  "I'm sure I got that from the Vulkars."

Carth shook his head.  "I remember seeing it when I first checked you for wounds after the crash.  I thought it was odd because the edges are so neat.  Not at all like a puncture wound."

I reached my own hand up to touch the scar and I suddenly knew.  I swallowed, a cold lump in my stomach.  "It's my tattoo," I said.  "My Sith tattoo."

I raised my eyes to his, afraid of what I'd see there.  The ghost of a Sith lord rose up between us.

He met my gaze with a steady one of his own.  Very gently, he placed his forehead against mine.  "It's healing," he murmured, "scars take time to fade."  He put a hand under my chin and touched his lips to mine.

My heart swelled and I put my hands on either side of his head and kissed him with everything I had in me, trying without words to say how much he meant to me and how much I loved him and wanted this.

With a small groan he pulled me into his lap.  I loosened the tie of my sleep robe.  He nibbled my bottom lip and his large hands were warm on my back through the thin fabric of the robe.  I shivered at his touch.

A thousand different thoughts ran through my mind as I let my hands travel over his shoulders, through the sprinkling of hair on his chest, over the three drops of inked blood he shed in symbolic sacrifice on the altar of vengeance and despair.  I wanted to ignore the rest of the universe and just stay here forever, delighting in the feel of his skin against mine.  I wanted to run outside and yell at the top of my voice that I was in love.  As it was, every Jedi in the place could probably sense my feelings.  I didn't care.

I pushed lightly against his chest and he fell back.  I followed him down and I could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this now?  I don't want to pressure you or anything."

"Right," I murmured, rubbing my cheek against his scruffy one, "because I haven't been wanting this probably longer than you have."

The laugh rumbling through his chest vibrated through my own body and I sighed, just enjoying our closeness.  "We have an early morning," he said.

"Let's make it a late night and just stay up," I said.

He took a deep breath and I changed altitude slightly.  "I think that's a fantastic idea," he said.

"Praise the Force," I said again.  Finally, the man was listening to reason.  Or as close to reason as I could get, with his hands doing what they were.  He slipped his hands between the lapels of my sleep robe and pushed it the rest of the way off my shoulders.  Cool air hit my bare skin and made me shiver.  His warm hands soothed the shivers and I lowered my head to his again.

We were in the middle of the kiss when the door hissed open.  We both froze, then Mission's disgruntled voice could be heard.  "I have the rottenest luck in the galaxy!"

Carth and I jerked apart.  "Dammit Mission, don't you knock?"

"When I told you two to get a room, I didn't mean mine," the Twi'lek girl retorted.  "Anyway, we've got more important things to worry about right now."

What could possibly be more important than me finally getting some peace with--and a piece of--the man I loved?  "We saved the galaxy last month," I said crossly.

"The galaxy has a short memory for good deeds," another, male voice said.

"Dustil?"  Carth said.

I looked from the Twi'lek to Carth's son and back again.  For two teenagers who hated each other, they sure ended up together a lot.  "Please don't tell me there's been another HoloNet feed about me being Darth Revan."

"Or more Mandalorians," Carth interjected.

"Or Sith ghosts," I added.

Mission shook her head.  "Juhani and Belaya are back," she said.  "Tann Teksa is with them."

I shrugged my robe back up over my shoulders.  "The little pink Twi'lek that everybody thinks bombed my room."

The sinking feeling I got when Mission mentioned the name increased tenfold when the door opened and Juhani and Belaya walked in.  Belaya looked grim, even for her.

Mission jumped up.  "How is she?"  Nobody seemed to register that Carth and I were still in a messy tangle on the bed, but I reluctantly rose to a sitting position.

Juhani's ears flattened against her head, showing her agitation.  "The situation is worse than we feared."

"You have made it worse," Belaya said.  "We should not have taken her out of that cell."

"And we could not have called ourselves Jedi by leaving her there to rot!" Juhani said hotly.

"You broke her out?" I asked incredulously.  "Where is she now?  Why did you do it?"  And finally, "Are you both insane?"

Belaya looked away and folded her arms.  Juhani came to me, knelt down in front of me and rubbed her cheek against my hand.  "I did what you would have done," she said quietly.

I tensed, fear curling in my gut.  "Juhani, what did you do?"

Belaya snapped, "She attacked that stupid constable and destroyed the jail, that's what she did!  Of all the stupid, hot-headed, emotional--"  Belaya took a deep breath and whispered the code.  "And I let her do it," she finished.

I looked up at Belaya, the tension in her shoulders, the stiff line of her back, and the unshed tears in her eyes.  "Belaya," I said, "I trust Juhani.  All through the quest for the Star Forge, she was never afraid to tell me when I stepped over the line."  I looked down at my Cathar friend.  "And if I had made the wrong choice one time too many, she would have been the first one to cut me down or die trying."  I brought my gaze back up to Belaya's.  "If she says she felt it necessary, I believe her."

"Well I, for one, am glad she did," Mission said.  "That constable woman was just...wrong."

"You won't get an argument from me," Carth said, offering his hand to Juhani.  "Thank you," he said to the Cathar, "for doing something about it."  He brought her hand up to his face and stroked his cheek against her hand.  My heart gave a twist at his perception.  Juhani's features cleared at the gesture of respect.

Belaya sighed and her shoulders slumped.  "Perhaps we had better tell you the story, then.  Come."

She and Juhani led us down the corridors to the medical bay, where the pink Twi'lek lay unconscious on a bay bed.  I didn't miss the fact that she'd been placed in four-point restraints.  "Is she dangerous?"

Belaya shook her head.  "She's self-mutilating."  She pointed to the deep scratches on the young woman's arms and face. 

I swallowed.  "Even in my darkest moments, I didn't want to actively hurt myself."

Carth shot me a look.  "You came damn close.  Too close for my comfort."

"We all have our own ways of beating ourselves up," Juhani murmured.

"I sedated her for the trip back here, and found this."  Belaya moved to the unconscious Twi'lek's head.  "Mission, will you please help me move her head-tails?"

Very carefully, Mission and Belaya lifted Tann's head-tails out from under the back of her head and Belaya turned the tentacle gently in her hands until the underside, just where the cartilage connected, was exposed.

Dustil gasped.  "Those are Sith tattoos," he said.

I reached up and touched the scar on my shoulder.  I looked at Carth, worry souring in the back of my throat.  "Suddenly all the rage, aren't they?"


	87. Forsaken

Forsaken

Dustil

"The markings," he repeated, "Those are Sith, dead to rights.  Exactly like the ones that I--"

Belaya stepped forward.  "Exactly?" she said, frowning.  "Where?"

Dustil stepped back involuntarily.  "Down in the temple.  In the jungle."

"No," she said, sighing with exasperation.  "Where on you?"

"Twit," Mission muttered.

Dustil touched his chest.  "Same color and everything.  She used some kind of ochre paint.  It was cold."  He frowned.  "But it washed right off."

"May I see you privately, please?"

He glowered at the healer.  "I guess," he said.  He followed her into a side cubicle and she twitched the curtain.

"Robe off, please," Belaya said, already reaching for the lapels of his robe.

Dustil stepped back.  "Hey, just a minute already."  He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.  Belaya tapped her foot. He sighed and undid his belt.  He shrugged out of the robe and tapped his tank shirt over his pectoral muscles.  "She painted them here and just down over my sternum."

"Please take off your shirt," Belaya said.

Dustil shook his head.  "I'd rather not."  His own Sith tattoos--the ones he'd gotten at the academy--were nobody's business but his own.

Belaya sighed.  "I don't have time for you to be delicate."

Delicate?  Fine.  He lifted up his shirt, waiting to see if she had something to say about his ink.  Belaya visually examined his skin, then looked up at him.  "May I?" she asked.

He shrugged.  "Sure, why not.  You're not going to find anything, though.  It all washed off and the stimulants in the paint cycled through my system within hours."

Belaya closed her eyes and put her hands over his chest.  "Hmm...yes," she said.  "And you are sure the stimulants were the only substance in there?"

Dustil frowned.  _Master?_ he thought.

Master Nayal was silent.  The beginnings of panic squirmed through him.  "What are you saying, Belaya?"

"Would you mind if I take a blood sample?"

"What do you think you'll find in there?"  _There is no emotion, there is peace_, he recited silently, holding out his arm.  She swabbed his arm and stuck him.  _Through strength, I achieve victory_.

"You can put your shirt back down," she said crisply.  "And cover your tattoos if you're shy about them."

He glanced at the older woman, who shrugged.  "Jedi do not condemn the repentant," she said.

"How do you know I'm repentant?" he asked.

"I trust the Masters," she said.  "Including the one in your head."

"I have no secrets, do I?" he muttered as he struggled back into his robe.  He followed Belaya back out into the main room where Mission was stroking the pink Twi'lek girl's forehead and Juhani and Revan were talking quietly.

"So are you going to explain to us what this girl and Dustil have in common?" his father said.

"The long and short of it," Belaya said, "is that these--" she traced the simple glyphs in the air above the Twi'lek's head-tails, "--are made with an ochre that contains Sith alchemical poison."

"Poison?" Mission asked.  "So why isn't she dead?"

Nerves jangling, Dustil answered.  So this is what Belaya had been after.  And Master Nayal was still silent.  "There were rumors at the Academy about this.  Actually, one aspect of the archaeological research was devoted to it.  The ancient Sith--the race--had developed alchemical formulas that reacted with the Force.  There were rumors that the tombs contained information about this alchemy, but nobody was ever sure about it, and the archaeologists weren't talking."  He knew there were labs in the Academy complex, deep in the lower levels of the hewn-stone hallways, but he kept far away from them. 

The persistent rumors of abominations roaming the boiler levels of the academy seemed like bogeyman-stories to scare the plebes, but the more time you spent in the academy, the more you realized the scary stories were more likely to be true, and that the moans and screams weren't just distorted acoustics and geological rumblings.

Belaya nodded.  "There are ancient Jedi records that speak of Sith poisons, designed to augment one's call to the dark side powers.  Tann's been having Sith poison put into her system subdermally for who knows how long.  I attempted to clean the paint, but you can see here how they've tinted her skin."

Dustil looked down, along with Revan and Mission, to see the areas Belaya had tried to clean.  The red ochre nearly blended in with the Twi'lek woman's deep pink coloring.  The places Belaya had pointed out were faded a little more than the rest, but it was still possible to see the outlines of the glyphs.  "So then the question is--why'd she do it?  She's not Force-sensitive."

"She's got no motive to join with the Sith, either." Carth added.

"And who'd be doing that to her?" Mission chimed in.  "Because that's obviously not a do-it-yourself job."

"So either she's got an accomplice," Dustil said, "Or she's a patsy."  Surreptitiously, he touched his own chest, where Xartha Tek had painted him into submission.  _Master?_ he thought again.  _Is there something you aren't telling me?_

_It is for another time_.

Dustil looked at the unconscious Twi'lek, and the other three women in the room.  "Xartha got the ochre from somewhere close by," he said, "because they would have stripped her of all her possessions in the garrison brig.  She also had coordinates and she and her accomplices had familiarity with the territory.  I never found out who her local contact was.  There were--er, circumstances."  _Like my father coming right for me in a murderous rage while being possessed by a Sith spirit.  And me having my own passenger--who still owes me an answer_.

He waited for the expected grumblings about the impatience of youth, or anybody who wasn't five hundred standard years old, but none came.  And that, quite frankly, worried him.

Belaya continued.  "Some of the Sith poisons have antidotes to them, developed by the ancient Jedi, but it's difficult to get the records.  Many of them were lost when Ossus fell in the Exar Kun war, and the rest are under strict guard on Coruscant."

"Will you be able to at least help her?" Mission asked.  She took the pink girl's fingers and massaged them between her hands.

Belaya nodded.  "We can keep her comfortable, and keep her safe.  These glyphs have been reapplied several times over, each time releasing more of the poison into her system.  At least here we can stop any more of it from getting in.  But the thing about Sith poison is that it doesn't leave the system without an antidote."

Mission looked down.  "I guess that's that, then.  Until she wakes up, we probably won't ever find out who put the bomb in Noura's room."

Revan put her arm around Mission's shoulders.  "As long as people think there's a possibility of me being Darth Revan, somebody's going to want my head on a vibroblade."

Revan's eyes locked with his.  "Dustil, what does your master have to say about this?"

Dustil closed his eyes.  _Well?_ he thought.

The master was silent.  _Come on_, he thought.  _Give over_.

The presence in his mind--one that he'd grown very accustomed to, rather quickly in time--was silent.  "Come on," he repeated out loud.

Revan was looking intently at him.  He shook his head.  "My master has nothing to say, it seems."

Belaya frowned.  "The Krath used Sith poison on captured Jedi when they took over the Empress Teta system.  It is one of the contributing factors of Ulic Qel-Droma's fall to the dark side.  The poisons I've studied have alchemical properties that open a Force-sensitive person to dark side influence."  As she talked, she fed the vial of blood she'd taken from him into an intake slot in one of the medical droids.  The droid began to whir.

Dustil began to sweat.  "What if the person's not Force-sensitive?" he asked.  "This girl isn't a Force-user, unless she managed to fool the entire Jedi Enclave by living under their noses all this time."

Revan shook her head.  "When I was going through the Sith Academy to find the Star Map, I had a little experience with this.  One of my tests was to administer poison to a Mandalorian to locate a weapons cache.  At first I thought it was truth serum."  She wrapped her arms around herself and looked down.  "It wasn't.  The Sith poison they used made him more suggestible."

"That's what truth serum does.  Removes inhibitions." Carth asked.

Revan shook her head.  "This stuff didn't remove his inhibitions.  I tried to Force persuade him after dosing him up, because I didn't want to threaten him."  She closed her eyes.  "It didn't work.  The Sith cocktail enhanced his darker emotions--fear, anger, rage, hate--" she shuddered, "--pain--the only way I could get what I needed out of him was to threaten him."  She drew her knees up to her chest, her eyes still closed.  Dustil saw tears leak out from under her lashes.  "I used the lightest setting on the torture field, and he--he screamed so loud, I--"  She stopped for a minute and the room was silent.  His father put a hand on her shoulder.  She shook him off. 

"You never told me," Carth said softly.  "Not the details."

Belaya wore an expression of horror on a face drained of color.  Juhani's ears and fur were flat against her skull.  Mission's lips folded in a tight line.

Revan opened her eyes and looked back at Dustil.  Her gaze was steady and knowing.  He swallowed.  "Interrogator Korrl, Information Extraction?"

She nodded.  He nodded back.  "Anyone caught showing anything less than whole-hearted enthusiasm for the subject material..."  He closed his own eyes against the memories.  "Had legitimate worries about becoming the next subject." 

_Master_, he thought, _I could really use one of those wise old Jedi comments right about now.  Tell me I'm not destined for an evil end just because I got high marks in that class_.  The Master's earlier comment about his susceptibility to the Dark side gave him a fresh burst of anxiety.

"So this Sith Poison makes her more prone to anger and hate," Carth said.

Belaya and Revan nodded.  Belaya added, "Whoever poisoned her invoked her own feelings of rage and anger and hate to make her more suggestible."

"How would that work?" Revan asked.  "I mean, how would it feel for her, Belaya?"

Belaya licked her lips.  "At my nearest guess, the poison clouds the moral inhibitions generated by emotions such as compassion and sympathy.  Moral judgments end up being impaired because the neural pathways and conclusions invoked by anger and hate seem so much clearer."

Revan scrubbed her face with one hand and looked back at Dustil.  "Elegant, isn't it?  Turning an enemy to your cause."

"The thing about the Sith poison," Belaya said carefully, "is that if the subject is not predisposed to the actions suggested--"

Revan's face drained white again.  "Then the subject's mind goes," she finished.  "That's what happened with the Mandalorian.  He snapped.  Went somewhere nobody could bring him back from."

Dustil felt his father's eyes on him.  He knew what Carth was thinking--the same thoughts plagued him almost constantly.  _How deep did I get in that place?  Where are my limits, and are they even remotely close to where they ought to be?_

The droid beeped, making them all jump.  Dustil swallowed.

_Master?  _

Belaya consulted the readout from the droid.  Her eyes flicked to him, and back to the readout.  She wouldn't meet his eyes after that.

_Master!_

"Well?" he asked Belaya.

She was silent for a long minute.  His father rose from his seat next to Revan and stood next to him.  "Belaya?  What did you find?"

Belaya licked her lips.  "I'm sorry Dustil."  She held out her datapad.  "The poison is in your system, too."

Cold dread lodged in his gut.  His dad grabbed his shoulder.

"It's a match with Tann's."

"You said there's an antidote," Carth said.  "Where is it?  Can we synthesize it?"  His fingers dug into Dustil's shoulder.  He was grateful for the slight pain, glad that his father--no matter that they might not be on the greatest of terms--stood beside him.

Belaya clasped her hands together.  "I said there might be an antidote.  We know the properties and effects of Sith alchemical poison, but the actual components need to be neutralized in the right proportions."

"So you can identify the cocktail, but not what's in it," Revan said.

Belaya nodded.  "That will take time and study, and resources I don't have here."

"So what do I do in the meantime?" Dustil asked tightly, his nerves fraying as he spoke.  Why hadn't he been more afraid in the Sith academy?

_Maybe it's because you were one of the promising ones back then_.  It was his own mind that answered him, unfortunately.  _Master?_

"Be on your guard," Belaya said.  "You're obviously not incapacitated by the dosage you had, but we still don't know what kind of subconscious effects there might be.  Or if you have a trigger."

Dustil paused.  _Okay_, he said to himself, since the master wasn't commenting, _think like a Sith_.  It was still disturbingly easy to do.  "Xartha would have kept any triggers to herself," he said.  "Sith don't share power or...tools."  Because that's what he'd been.  A tool to be used to contain that spirit which instead found its way into his father. 

Rage at Xartha spiked through him and he wished he'd stopped to kick her dead carcass back there in the jungle.  "But even without a trigger, I've still got a time bomb in my blood stream," he said, coming to his own conclusion.  His father gripped his shoulder harder.  "I could go off at any time."  His gaze fell on Mission.  At least now he knew why Darth Revan's old wardrobe got to him so easily.

_You knew, Master, didn't you?  That's why I have to stay as far away from her as I can_. 

"We'll go to Coruscant," Carth was saying.  "I'll camp out on the doorstep of the Jedi Temple there until they help us."

A ripple of energy through the Force belayed his answer.  Seconds later, an alarm klaxon began to ring.  Belaya locked down the medical room while the rest of them rushed into the hallway to see what the sudden commotion was about.

A passing Jedi answered Juhani's sharply voiced question.  "Outer courtyard.  Looks like every non-Jedi in the sector is here."

"What the hell do they want at this hour?" Revan shouted crossly.

The Jedi looked hard at her.  "You, prodigal knight.  And the Onasi apprentice.  They want justice."

_Master!  Answer me, dammit!_

_Please!_


	88. Famous

A/N: This one's for the Carthaholics and the Onasi Order (and our wonderful mods-slash-knights in shining armor--Aaron Lightblade and Stanley Woo)

Famous

Revan

"I don't believe this," Carth said. "All we need are torches and pitchforks and we'll have a good old fashioned Outer Rim lynching."

I pressed myself against his back, trying to see under his outstretched arm. Dustil stood on the other side of me, blocking my view from that direction. I sighed. "Push off, already, you two. I can't see squat."

Carth held the louvered window blind away from the opening and we were all trying to see the mob that we could plainly hear in the outer courtyard of the Jedi Enclave.

"Justice!" Came a cry from someone in the crowd.

The cry echoed. "Justice for Araroon!"

"Justice for Kumadzi!"

I listened as the rioters rattled off names of families, cities, planets I'd destroyed or subdued as Darth Revan. I remembered the Ithorian I'd met at the reception, biological weapons I must have had in development, and thought, It's never going to end, is it? I shoved my head under Carth's arm all the way and finally got a look at the size of the mob in the courtyard.

"They must have imported people here to get those numbers," I said.

"People have been showing up here on transports for days," Mission said. "I told you."

"I didn't think they were showing up here for the sole purpose of burning me in effigy," I shot back.

"Is that a gallows?" Carth asked.

"Where?" Mission said eagerly.

"Great," I said. "Something we can hang our humor on."

"Are you all insane?" Dustil asked harshly. "Those people out there want our blood!"

I heard Master Vrook's resonant voice cut through the crowd and I slumped against the wall support. "They want Darth Revan's blood," I said. They want someone to blame."

"And that someone is us," Dustil said. "We've got to get out of here. Do you think there's a back way?"

"Do you think there's not a mob at the back door, too?" Mission said.

"Look, maybe we should just go out there," I said.

"You're crazy," Carth said.

"It's the lack of sex," I shot back, with a specially-reserved look for Mission and Dustil and their interruption earlier. "It leads to the dark side."

"You're not throwing yourself to the wolves," Carth said. "The Republic garrison will show up soon, and restore order. This isn't the way things are done."

"I see an awful lot of red and yellow in that crowd," Mission pointed out. "Looks like they're using the 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em' tactic."

Carth ran a hand through his hair in agitation. Me, I just slumped against the wall, floating in a surreal non-space.

"We know you're hiding Darth Revan in there!" An agitated, gruff-voiced woman called out from the crowd.

Master Vrook's voice rang out. "There are no Sith Lords here." _You tell 'em, Vrook_, I thought. They might even buy it, eventually, right after they tear the place down looking for me.

"I meant what I said. I think we ought to just go out there," I said abruptly.

"I'd love for you to come apart in my arms, beautiful, but I'd rather have it be from great sex and not a lynch mob."

Suddenly, it felt like we were back on Taris, or Tatooine, before the Star Forge, when we were just a bunch of misfits with a mission so far out of our scope of ability that we couldn't help but laugh together at the cosmic joke of it. Some sort of weight left me and my mind became clear. "In fact, I think that's exactly what we should do. Carth, can you contact your ambassador friend via commlink and get her to ready her ship a little early?"

"You have a plan for getting us out of here and over there?" he asked.

"Actually, all we need is for you to tell her to hover her transport over the courtyard. And throw down a rope."

"That's your plan?" Dustil asked.

"You have a better one, I'm listening," Mission snapped. "Unless you're too much of a wimp to climb a rope. I think it's classic Noura."

"So stupid that it could only work for us," I explained. Dustil, after all, hadn't been in on all the insane plans that somehow actually worked. "We'll need a diversion to get ourselves into the crowd. Once we're there, just yell out the same thing as the guy next to you."

"And after the five seconds it takes them to figure out who we are?"

I shrugged. "Your father's friend ought to have that transport here by then. Or else we'll have to start juggling." I remembered my offer to do just that in Dreshdae spaceport. The Sith hadn't thought it terribly amusing, but it knocked them off-guard enough for me to Force wave them on their collective asses. Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups. Only this time, I was counting on it.

"You never paid attention to me before, did you, Mission?" Dustil was asking. "Of course, I have a better plan. You wanna help, or just sit there waving your head-tails around?"

Mission's chin jutted out. "I'm so far ahead of you, Sithboy, you can't even see my head-tails." She pushed away from the window next to me. Her head-tails waved into an approximation of a rude gesture. "We'll be back in a few minutes."

Carth and I were left alone. I raised my eyebrows. "What do you think they've got up their sleeves?"

"I'm not sure I want to know," he said.

I drew my knees up against my chest. "Listen," I said. "I'll--I'll understand if you don't want to spend the rest of your life dodging scenarios like this one."

He glowered at me. "Oh, no you don't, lady. I didn't haul your carcass out of the Rakatan ocean just to let you go running off again." He reached for my hand. "I claimed you back there, remember? I went to a lot of trouble and I'll be damned if I'm not keeping you forever."

I tilted my head up at him. "Are you trying to make an honest woman of me, Carth Onasi?" My heart throbbed, just once, though I'd never admit it.

His eyebrows went up. "As a matter of fact, I am." A slow, crooked smile crept across his face. "Mob scenes included."

My chin wobbled. I felt like crying and laughing at the same time, and cursing my rotten luck that something as sweet and romantic as this moment was supposed to be wasn't lit by candlelight, but by the torches of a mob outside that wanted me hitched, but to the back of a space-bound freighter without a vac suit rather than to the man of my dreams.

I felt wetness on my cheeks. "Okay," I said. My voice caught in my throat.

His thumb brushed away drops from the corner of my mouth. "That settles it, then." He pulled me up with our joined hands and into his arms.

I buried my face into his neck and sniffed. "I reckon it does." The light from the courtyard outside reminded me that while the decision had been made, its execution still presented us with a problem.

Outside, the crowd was growing more hostile. Shouts for my presence overran Master Vrook's strident tones.

"Give us Revan! We demand justice!"

"Dustil Onasi! You are wanted for crimes against the sovereignty of the Yavin system! Come out and be judged!"

"What of the traitor Bastila Shan? The Jedi cannot shelter her from her crimes!"

"Oh, sweet Force," I muttered, fear clutching at my belly. "How many people know where the Ebon Hawk went? Canderous didn't disguise her signature when he flew off with all that romantic fire lit under his rear end, did he?"

Carth shook his head. "There wasn't a need. We were heroes three days ago, remember?"

"Fame's a fickle mistress, isn't she?" I shot back.

"Begone, all of you! You have no authority here, and this accomplishes no justice!" Master Vrook's voice rang out.

"Listen," I said, clutching his fingers in mine, "Dustil and Mission are a pair of clever kids, but I still think we need to get your friend the ambassador on the comm. We ought to get out of here before we bring any more trouble down on the heads of the Jedi."

"They're big boys, girls, and sentients," he said. "They can take care of themselves."

"Still," I said, licking my lips nervously, "this is what it's going to be like from now on, no matter where we go. Sooner or later, somebody is going to figure out who I am and want my head on a stick." I reached for my commlink and thumbed in Jolee's personal code. Carth turned away and brought his own commlink out.

It was a while before he answered. "Hey old man," I said. "There's some damn kids in our front yard again."

"Try telling me something I don't already know, young thing."

"So I was going to go out there and give them what for."

"Really?" Jolee humphed. "You and what army? Noura, these kids are dangerous."

"Well, I was going for a more hit-and-run approach. Carth's going to get our transport for tomorrow here a little early. You want to hitch a ride for the fireworks?"

"And give up my comfortable easy chair in front of the fire? Bah! I'll go with the rest of the old geezers in the Enclave transport in the morning."

I raised my eyebrows. "They're going, too?"

His harrumph hurt my ear. "Yes. They're all going. Busybodies, every damn one of 'em. Say they won't interfere, and yammer on about prophecies and whatnot, and--"

"Did you say 'prophecy?' " Sudden panic made me cold. The last thing we needed was a damn prophecy in the mix to muddy things up.

"Bah, don't worry about it," Jolee said. "They're almost sure that this isn't the situation the prophecy refers to. They're 'not interfering,' just as they said to you in the council chamber."

"Right," I said, my tone reflecting my complete lack of conviction in that. "So why not just let us bring back the news after the fact?"

"Well I don't know about the rest of 'em, but I'm going along to make sure they don't interfere. And that nobody else does, either."

"Like who?" I wanted to know. But I had a bad feeling about this.

"Like those yahoos outside who may have spaceworthy means of transportation."

"I see," I said. I didn't need the Force to show me the way out of this one. I signed off and turned to Carth. "Jolee thinks we'll be followed. And not just by the Jedi Council."

"I thought they weren't getting involved," he said. I relayed what Jolee had told me. "When has the Jedi Council _not_ gotten involved in some way when they're not wanted?"

"Worse than a Telosian grandmother," he muttered.

"Should I be worried?" I asked.

"My grandmother lives on Corellia. She disowned us all when my family decided to settle Telos."

"Oh." Ouch. I had no relatives that I can remember. How awful it must be to have them when they didn't want you. "I'm sorry," I said, meaning it. "I never knew."

He shrugged. "She's a stranger to me." His commlink beeped. He answered it. "Ambassador? Remember that ride you promised? Can we get it a little early? Like now?"

I commed Juhani while Carth talked to the ambassador. The Cathar informed me that she would accompany us on the ambassador's transport, while Belaya stayed behind with Tann Teksa until the morning.

"Juhani, I know the Mandalorian tradition says that the bride's honor should be fought for at high noon. But what if we moved it up a few hours? Is that an insult?"

"To be honest, Revan, I do not know. However you cannot ambush Canderous or deceive him in any way. That is a definite insult and he would then have the right to challenge you to a death duel for that."

"Great, so I just have to let him know I'm coming, right?"

"I am unsure of how he will respond," Juhani said, worry in her voice. "He could perceive that you are robbing him of crucial hours he should be using to further his case."

I sighed. "Well, there isn't much we can do for it. Either we speed things up, or our little ceremonial fistfight becomes another Mandalorian war."

I signed off with Juhani after she agreed to meet us at the foyer to the courtyard. "Carth," I said. "Do you have any way of getting through to Canderous?"

"Priority holo messages will go through T3," he said. "Everything else gets queued into the buffers."

_Oh, Canderous, why did you have to get this Mandalorian bug now?_ I thought. It really wasn't Canderous's fault. Had the tides of public opinion not turned, people would have been charmed and tickled to read about two of the Heroes of the Star Forge deciding to get married.

_Make that four_, I corrected myself, a stupid grin creeping across my face.

"That smile has me worried, beautiful," Carth said.

I grinned up at him. "The only thing you have to worry about, flyboy, is planning a honeymoon."

He made a face. "How about we start with a glamorous tour of Yavin 13, including a romantic and authentic foray into Mandalorian mating rituals. While you take part in this culturally significant event, your partner will experience a live and extremely personalized ear-blistering by an actual Jedi. Possibly several."

I felt like we were back on Taris again, giving each other blow-by-blows of the dismal state of our situation as if we were HoloNews reporters. "Following our lead story, a related story includes an angry mob hell-bent on destroying the honeymooners in question for various transgressions against the Republic including, but not limited to, being a Sith Lord, falling to the Dark Side, and various crimes against fashion, the worst of which is a hideously battered orange jacket--"

"It's rust!" he interjected. His grin faded. "Listen, I wanted to surprise you. I booked us a couple of tickets to Coruscant and a stay in the Celestial Palace hotel. I wanted us to have a few days of luxury. I thought, if we had to wait that long to get things sorted out that we ought to make it special."

My heart flipped over again. "Oh, Carth," I murmured, feeling like the galaxy's biggest sap. "I love you, flyboy," I said, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing tight. "But things being what they are, we can't go to Coruscant."

"I know," he said and nodded his head. "I just wanted you to know. If that outside seems bad, Coruscant'll be magnitudes worse."

"I'd just as soon not be that close to the Republic Senate. I have a feeling they have a long memory when it comes to Sith Lords vowing to destroy them."

Carth checked his chrono. "Where have those kids gotten off to? The transport will be here at 0130."

"I'll find them," I said. "In the meantime, can you make a holotransmission to send to the Ebon Hawk? I don't want Canderous and Bastila waking up tomorrow morning to a mob like this one."

"I'm in total agreement with you. I want them both waking up in the best mood possible."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "I can think of one way that'll happen, and I am green with envy over it."

He offered me a wry smile. "We'll get our chance, beautiful, and I'll make sure it's worth the wait."

I sighed. "I'm holding you to that promise. I still haven't abandoned the idea of Zeltros, you know."

He kissed me before we parted, a swift, hard kiss that made my hands fist in his hair and my toes curl inside my shoes. I am so going to have that man to myself one of these days. And I won't let him up for air for at least a week.

I sprinted down the corridors of the enclave, searching for the signatures of my friends. I found the blue Twi'lek down a dimly-lit hallway lined with utility closets, tugging a cloth sack away from Dustil. "I'll carry it, dammit," she was saying. "You don't need to be any closer to it than absolutely necessary."

"Quit coddling me, already! I have defenses, you know."

I sighed. "Are you two fighting again?"

They both abruptly clammed up. Dustil even dropped his hold on the bag, leaving it to thump against Mission's leg. It clanked. I winced. "Mission, I really hope you didn't help yourself to the good silverware before we left. This is the Jedi enclave and it deserves a little respect."

She rolled her eyes and her head-tails snapped outward. "Gimme a little credit, Noura. Besides, the stuff in this place wouldn't get me a fizz-drink and a can of 'gumes. It's tin."

"Well that's a relief," I said. "So what's in the bag?"

"Equipment," Dustil replied quickly.

At the same time, Mission suddenly became very interested in the corridor. "Has anyone heard from Big Z lately?"

"You have a comm," I said.

"Oh yeah," she muttered, fishing for it in her belt pouch. She thumbed it, spoke into it, and glanced at me several times. "I figured you weren't asleep," she said. "Yes. We're in the south wing...he's there, too?" She looked up at me again. "Z says HK came to get him as soon as the crowd showed up. Says he wants to borrow Z's bowcaster."

My eyes widened in alarm. "Tell him no!" I said quickly. "Last time we let him have a bowcaster, we almost set an entire sector of Kashyyyk on fire!" I still shuddered at the memory of burning wroshyr limbs. If it weren't for HK's carbonite projector--and Jolee's quick order for the droid to use it, Kashyyyk might still be burning. "Just have them get to the northeast loading dock doors, and tell them to wait for my comm signal."

Mission explained the plan to our Wookiee friend and signed off. "Okay, that droid needs a mind-wipe," she said.

"He'd be horribly insulted to hear you say that," I said. "Besides, if I mind-wipe him, I won't be able to threaten him with a mind-wipe anymore."

"Wouldn't your problems be over by then?" Dustil asked.

I shook my head. "I may not have the memories of being a Sith Lord, but I know enough about myself to know that any droid I programmed would have back doors and failsafes against mind-wipes. He's already demonstrated once before his ability to side-step 'em." I made a face. "Besides, I think a mind-wipe can be the cruelest thing you can do to any semi-sentient being."

"Oh," Dustil muttered. "I--I guess you're right."

I shook my head. "Well, that killed the mood, didn't it? So what's in the bag, anyway?"

"We told you," Mission said. "Equipment."

"Yes, but what _kind_ of equipment," I pressed. I led them down the hallway to the southeast bay. I wanted us to be able to approach the crowd from different points, so that we wouldn't run the risk of being trapped all together.

"_Diversionary_ equipment," Dustil said. "We'll only use it if your plan doesn't work."

Mission shouldered the sack, looking like a dementedly charming Tatooine junk peddler and we quickened our pace. Outside of the dead-end hallway I found them, we started running into other Jedi, coming to see what the ruckus--rather the "disturbance in the Force"--was all about.

When we neared the southeast wing, we were stopped. "Ah, Jedi Revan, and apprentice Onasi." An older Jedi knight blocked our path. "I've been instructed by the masters to locate you and escort you back to your rooms until the unfortunate disturbance outside is resolved."

"Funny," I said, "As we were just about to help resolve it."

"Under no circumstances am I to allow you into the equation," the Jedi said gently. "Your safety is paramount."

I blinked. Trust the Jedi Council to find the exact argument to take the wind out of my solar sails. But that's what I have an ion drive in the engine room for. "There are a lot of innocents around whose safety is more important than mine," I said. "And young squirt here has an on-board master looking out for his interests."

The Jedi put out his arms. "Yes, you are very capable individuals, indeed. Please come this way. Let's get you back to your rooms." He smiled with charm and waved his hand.

I suddenly had the urge to agree with him. He was a really helpful kind of guy, after all, and it was nice that someone was worried about protecting me, only that was primarily Carth's job as he'd been the first to apply for the position and had a unique advantage with the subject in question--

I shook my head and realized we were halfway back to my quarters. That sneaky old--I checked my chrono and realized I'd lost almost ten minutes and we were well away from where we needed to be. I stumbled, bumping into Mission, who slammed into Dustil. We all shared a bleary-eyed look and Mission's expression crumpled into an annoyed glower. _You look like I feel, kiddo_, I thought.

The Jedi still led us down towards the living quarters, but I slowed my pace gradually, stealthily. Mission and Dustil followed my lead, and at the first turnoff, we moved as one to duck down the side corridor, taking off at a run.


	89. Infamous

Infamous

Carth

The mob outside bothered me more than I let on. Noura's more than capable enough to fight her way out of anything a bunch of provincial yokels can throw at her, but I know her, and I know her moods, and deep down, it hurts her that she'll never be able to truly escape the ghost of Revan in other people's eyes. When I promised to protect her, she was already a skilled Jedi in her own right, and the part of me that knows more than I think I do knew that it wouldn't be my blasters she'd need most.

I fumbled through the holo-transmission to the Ebon Hawk and worried about her stalking the corridors of the Enclave, looking for Mission and Dustil. I worried about Mission and Dustil, too. After sending the holo, I went to armor up and found myself reaching for Darth Bandon's armor, the same that I'd worn in the jungle. I still didn't remember much about the temple in the jungle, but I remember coming to and seeing the lurid markings on Dustil's chest. And to know they were poison--that the Sith poisoned my son, made me want to take vengeance. To hurt those who dared to hurt the ones I loved.

My blasters hung on my hips within easy reach, both fully charged, and as an additional precaution, twin vibroblades went on over my back. If any of those fools thought that they could touch her--

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and flinched at my own feral expression. So that's what the dark side looks like on an ordinary guy.

I paused to breathe, imagining Jolee's steadying hand on my shoulder. The woman who poisoned my son was dead, by my hand, and he was in the care of those best able to find his antidote. The mob outside threatening my woman was no threat compared to the Dark Jedi and legions of Sith we'd battled when we were a bunch of galactic nobodies.

_But that was a different kind of battle_, my tactician's mind said. One you could fight. Out there it was simple. This is a war fought against an enemy that is everyone in the galaxy, and victory isn't tallied with kills. _Unless things get messy_.

I wondered if there wasn't some residual dark side taint in the armor itself, left over from either its previous owner or my own journey down that path. I know what the dark side feels like now. I know there's some of it in me, just like there's some of it in everybody. I won't be so foolish as to pretend the dark side doesn't exist. Going off half-cocked wouldn't be of any use to anybody. Instead, I made my way to the door leading to the outside, and listened to the crowd get louder and louder.

Noura, Dustil, and Mission joined me, the latter two carrying a cloth sack between them. "I hear they've developed a chant," Mission said wryly, cocking an ear.

"Justice from the Jedi! Justice from the Jedi!"

"Alliterative, but not very creative," Noura said. "I'll give them credit for effort, but they lose points in creativity."

"And rhythm," Dustil interjected. "They can't even chant together."

"They're just a beginner mob, Dustil, give them a little time to practice and soon they'll be burning their way to the big leagues. You ready to make our distraction?" Mission twitched the sack.

"What do you two have in there?" I asked, nervous.

"We thought we'd give the mob their wish," Mission said cheerfully. "We got it covered."

I shared a look with Noura. She simply shrugged. "Let 'em go for it. It can't be any worse than what we're doing already."

Noura's comm beeped. "I am in position," Juhani said. "I see the transport. Two minutes, I would venture."

"You stay low to that roof, Juhani," Noura said. "I don't want anyone taking potshots at you."

"They will not see me until I wish to be seen." Juhani's tone was confident, and I knew the Cathar could live up to her words.

Noura turned to Mission and Dustil. "You guys head for the southeast loading dock. Carth and I will stay here. Leave the enclave, melt into the crowd, but stay around the edges. When the transport comes, we'll group in the middle and be out of the ruckus before they have time to say 'Nal Hutta' eh?"

"And if they start trouble--" Dustil patted the sack over Mission's shoulder, "--we have a contingency plan."

_Please...don't let there be trouble_. I sent a silent prayer to anything that might be listening.

"But everybody--understand. Nobody out there gets hurt." She looked at each of us, sparing the longest glance for me with all my weaponry. "Not a single hair on anyone's head."

_Sorry sweetheart_, I thought. _Anyone touches you, and all bets are off_.

I think she read my mind just then, because she narrowed her eyes. "Be as menacing as you can, if you feel it necessary, but I don't want another drop of blood on my hands. Even by proxy." The sudden sadness in her beautiful face was the only thing that could have stopped me.

Mission and Dustil took off down the corridor, their mystery sack clanking faintly. Noura and I huddled by the doors, waiting for the magic moment. Finally Noura let out an impatient sigh. "Let's just get this over with," she said.

I'd try to keep the riff-raff from getting itself into harm's way, but I felt no obligation or responsibility to a bunch of yahoos who'd decided to take the law into their own hands. Any appendages they chose to lay on her would feel a nice charge from the stun setting on my blasters.

"Let's do this," she said. "One at a time. Just try to melt into the crowd." She slapped her hand against the security panel and the door whooshed open to the night.

Glow rods lit the night outside in the crowd. Across the U-shaped courtyard, we could see Master Vrook trying vainly to keep the crowd engaged--trying to reason with them. I shook my head. The Jedi were awfully used to being obeyed without question.

Across the concourse, I saw the southeastern door open. Mission and Dustil were briefly illuminated by the light from inside, then they melted into the night shadows of the side of the building. Noura moved forward and, in typical Jedi discretion, plunged straight into the crowd.

I commed HK. "Come on out," I said. But be discreet for the love of the Force."

"Supplication: My carbonite ray can be used in very discrete bursts, O meatbag love slave of master."

Noura and I both stopped at hearing that. "What are you programming into that thing?" I asked.

Her baffled expression matched her words. "I honestly have no idea where he's getting it. I haven't altered his programming since before the Star Forge. I think he's trying to be sociable."

I looked into the crowd and saw mostly humans, but a few Bothans, Rodians, Duros, Twi'leks, and out of the corner of my eye, a familiar Trandoshan shape. Sadeet, the local crime lord Canderous and I had run afoul of in the cantina. I had to wonder what, besides his sense of civic duty, brought the crimelord out of his throne room at the cantina.

I forgot about him temporarily when I noticed Noura getting ahead of me. She stood behind two tall aliens sharing a datapad and muttering to themselves.

I sidled up behind her. She peered between their elbows to see what was so interesting, and I peered over her shoulder to see if it was dangerous.

Her portrait flashed bright and clear, and the aliens twittered to each other in easily understandable Huttese. "I'm not sure I believe it," the one on the left said.

"That's what the news is saying," the one on the right said. "This woman is supposed to be Darth Revan."

"But she's a hero. She stopped the Sith."

The right one shrugged. "The only reason she was able to lead the Republic to the Star Forge was because she'd been there before as a Sith."

"Hard to believe this smiling woman is a Sith Lord," Lefty said.

I should have known Noura's tolerance limit was stretched. I should have anticipated that it would be her mouth that got us in trouble. I have to come up with better things for her to do with that mouth, really.

She shoved between the two aliens. "Weedy lookin' broad for a Sith Lord, isn't she?" Noura's tone cut through the vicinity, attracting the attention of the tall aliens, and heads turned within a few meters.

"We could have done without that," I said, feeling the ripple of awareness through the crowd.


	90. A Gift For Confusion

A Gift for Confusion

Dustil

The Sith had never come out and told him he was Force-sensitive.  Galran Me had told him once in Intel training that he guessed it was because of Dustil's history in the Republic, and of who his father was.  "They didn't know if you'd hear the words 'Force-sensitive' and suddenly decide to run off and join the Jedi."

Dustil snorted at the time, convinced Galran was making it too difficult.  "They wouldn't give me any more knowledge than they absolutely needed to.  And with Master Mukra's way of teaching, I could've become a master without ever knowing I was using the Force."  The alien master taught what he called "persuasive techniques" so subtly and with such convolution that you learned to ignore the reading material and gamble on your instincts as to what was right for the practical exams.  Using the Force, he thought ruefully.

Inspiring fear in others, or making them question their sanity, had been one of his strong areas.  Looking back to when his father and Revan first confronted him at the academy, he could remember his unconscious attachment to his father's anguish, how part of him drew it out and seemed to feed on it.  He'd done it again, and with ease, back in the 'fresher with Mission, taking her fear and pulling it out of wherever she'd hidden it.

That talent would come in handy now.  "Help me get this thing on," he said.

Beside him, Mission's blue-fingered hands clenched into fists.  "This is bad," she said.  "Look."  She pointed across the courtyard.  His father and Revan stood in the middle of a little circle of nobody else, their backs to each other.  The whine of the transport was growing louder, but he judged that it was still quite a ways off.

He glanced around to get the lay of the land and his heart sunk at the dozens of Jedi slipping out of the doors to line the walls.  "Are they complete idiots?" he wondered aloud.

"Who?  Your dad and Noura?  Sometimes," Mission said.

"No," he muttered.  "The Jedi."  He pointed to the walls.  "All it'll take is one sudden move for all hell to break loose."

"Maybe we shouldn't do the 'ghost of Darth Revan' thing right now," she said, head-tails twitching.

Her protest came too late.  The robe was already on, and he carefully reached into the Force and searched for the threads of fear from the crowd around him.  "When people won't listen to reason, sometimes you've gotta control 'em through fear." 

_Go ahead, Master_, he mentally challenged, _Aren't you going to say something?_

The master in his head was silent, as silent as the spirit he was supposed to be.  Dustil felt cold, bereft.  Vulnerable.

Years of training at the hands of the Sith, however, taught him exactly what to do with vulnerability.  Crush it before it became a weakness.  He slipped the mask over his face and let his instincts take over.


	91. Bigmouth

Bigmouth

Revan

I need to learn to keep my fat yap shut.  The little clearing of antagonistic people snapped back into place like a jellyplas band and I suddenly felt hands and other appendages reaching out to touch me.  Fingers grabbed at my arms and I felt a hard shove from behind.  "Move!" Carth said, giving me another shove.

"I'm sorry," I said, pushing through the crowd until I sensed I was far enough away from the two tall aliens to regain some of my anonymity.  The ion whine of the transport's engines grew louder.  I realized the crowd would know something was up when the big starship nearly landed on their heads.

Chants for justice grew louder.  Master Vrook's voice cut through the chants of the crowd.   "Jedi business remains Jedi business.  Under the laws of the Republic--"

"Since when does Jedi business include harboring criminals from the Republic?"  One strident voice sounded over the general noise.

"We harbor no criminals here!"  Even from this far away I could hear the anger in Master Vrook's voice.  He, like the other masters, was not used to having his word questioned.

"Dustil Onasi finds shelter behind these walls!"  Beside me, I felt Carth tense.  Neither one of us knew the details of what transpired between Dustil and the Sith witch that nearly killed him, but given his position in Republic Intel, I expected the military to have had a hand in it.  I couldn't believe that any offspring of Carth's would be stupid enough to go back to the Sith after having been played by them for a fool.

Master Vrook pointed a finger at the speaker.  "And do you think your provincial courts can determine justice when the Force is involved?  Do you presume, Zord Woolis, that you are better equipped to follow the will of the Force than the Jedi Council?  Jedi lawbreakers are held accountable by the Jedi Council, not you lot.  Now return to your homes, all of you, before someone gets hurt."

"We deserve to know the truth!  We demand to know if that woman is Darth Revan!"  The raspy, hissing voice of a large green Trandoshan came from somewhere to my right.  The floodlights from the transport appeared over the wall of the courtyard.

Master Vrook shouted, struggling to make himself heard over the whine of the transport's engines.  As one, the crowd looked up to see the ship's boarding ramp lower, and a coil of cable descend.

"That's our cue," Carth shouted in my ear.  We pushed towards the dangling cable.

"Darth Revan is no more," It turned out the exact wrong thing to say, when an apparition seemed to come out of nowhere.  Great black wings of cloak whipped out to its sides in the wind from the transport's repulsors.  The sinister Y of the face mask, reminiscent of the armor of the Mandalorians defeated by the mask's wearer, gleamed red in the strobing lights.

I froze, one hand on the cable, wind whipping the braids of my topknot against my scalp, and felt my guts turn to water.

On board the Leviathan, when Malak had gifted me with the visions that revealed my former identity, I thought it was bad.  To close my eyes and see what I'd done, what I'd been, still haunted me at nights.

Now I got a taste of what it must have been like for the other guy.  Stark terror crawled into the folds of my brain like maggots over a bloated corpse.  I wanted to run.  I wanted to cower.  I wanted to do anything, say anything, be anything, just to make that mask turn away and focus on someone else.

"Noura!"  A hard thump between my shoulder blades jerked me out of the spiral of terror.  Carth spun me around to face him, and that mask streaked out of my field of vision.  I barely recognized him for a second before returning back to myself.

The transport's presence had galvanized the crowd, and instead of focusing on Master Vrook, our neighbors began to focus on the people most interested in the large starship hovering above their heads.  Inevitably, someone recognized me.  One of the tall aliens to whom I'd mouthed off before cried out.  "It's her!" and pointed an overly-long arm right at me.

The crowd surged forward and suddenly I felt hands reaching out for me, grabbing at my robes, my arms, my hair.  "Murderer!"  "Butcher!"  "Destroyer of worlds!"

Carth's arms went around me, but I barely felt them.  The outpouring of anger and hatred from the beings around me buffeted my Jedi senses.  A wave of multicolored shades of despair washed over me, beings from a dozen worlds ravaged by my hand sending that grief back to me in bitter harvest.  The words of the Jedi code entered my brain, but they were meaningless--sounds strung together that battered at my brain with little effect.

"There is no emotion, there is peace!  Come on, Noura, please."  The Jedi code came in Carth's voice, and I realized it was he who'd been speaking it all along.  My mouth formed the words in time with his.

"There is no passion, there is serenity.  There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

"That's right, beautiful, keep talking."  One arm went around me and I felt the motions of his body as he used the other to push away the surging mass of people around us.  I cast about for more of the Jedi code.

"There is no death, there is the Force."

Like magic, the code triggered something in me.  The Force reminded me that it was always there, and what took me so long to get around to calling on it.  I turned in his arms, took his face in my hands and kissed him hard.  "I owe you one," I shouted.  The relief I saw in his eyes brought me further back to solid ground.

Something hard thumped into my back, sending a flash of pain through me.  Some joker decided to start throwing rocks.  Time to go, I thought, before my presence causes more trouble than it already has.  "Carth, pick me up," I said.

Carth's hands slipped under my armpits and he lifted me up.  I swung my legs around and shimmied up his body until I sat on his shoulders, the hilts of his blades digging into my rear end.  He staggered with the effort of keeping balance and clamped his hands on my thighs.  "This isn't the between your thighs position I had in mind, gorgeous."

"Me neither," I retorted.  Another rock hit me, this one in the shoulder.  I tugged on the cable and the cord started a jerky ascent.  It hadn't gotten more than half a meter before the jerking became a shudder and the cable ground to a halt.  The thrum of the winch engine stopped sending vibrations down the cable and suddenly, I was swinging free in space, spinning gently while rocks flew past me.  Thank the Force that angry mobs tend to have bad aim.

My spin sent me back around to the last place I'd seen that terrible mask and sure enough, I saw it again.  But this time, I remembered the code, and Carth below me.  It's just a mask, I told myself.  Yet I could feel something emanating from it that called to all my irrational fears, whispering in my brain that I couldn't outrun my past, that once things settled down, Carth would come to his senses and see what a horrible waste of sentience I was.  That the Jedi were right about forbidding love.  And all the decisions I'd made about my friends' lives were exploding in my face.

My fictional days as a blockade runner had put me in contact with a lot of superstitious people, and I'd picked up enough strange habits that I whispered a small prayer and freed two fingers from the cable to cross--to ward off bad luck--when I called on the Force and wrapped it around me like a cloak. 

The crawling fear in my brain receded enough for me to understand that the masked and cloaked ghost from my past was no ghost, but a person wearing Darth Revan's clothes.  My vision widened to see the blue head-tails close by the specter and it all clicked into place.  _You great idiots!_ I thought furiously.  _Are you both mad?_

People close to the Darth Revan figure began to notice.  Then to scream.  The crowd surged against itself as the brave attempted to reach the figure while the fearful tried with all their might to get away.  The net result, I noted was that Dustil--the little spitball--was using the crowd's reaction to herd them back towards the main gate. 

My muscles spasmed, reminding me that I was swinging free on a cable, and I began to climb.  Carth and I would have to hurry up and get married, so I could officially spank the living daylights out of his son.  Or maybe buy him his own corvette, because the net effect of Darth Revan's appearance was that the crowd no longer gave a damn about me.

Except for the jackass with the blaster.  There's always one too single-minded or stubborn to fall for distractions.  At least he, she, or it had the courtesy to keep the setting on stun.


	92. Escape

Escape

Carth

For an old man, my reflexes are still damn good.  Praise the Force a hundred times over.  I caught her as she tumbled backward, the blue-green haze of stun fire still flickering around us. 

My head whipped towards the direction from which the blaster bolt had come.  A thick knot of people and the strobing floodlights kept me from a positive ID, but two Twi'lek's and a Rodian stood out, conspicuous by their lack of panic in the sea of people suddenly screaming and shoving each other.

The cable jerked again, carrying us upward a half-meter, then shuddered to a halt.  Around my ankles, the crowd swelled, most struggling either towards or away from the robed and hooded figure that paralyzed Noura.  "Noura!  Wake up!" I yelled into her ear.

Her body shuddered and she shook her head groggily.  "Damn," she muttered.

"Hold on to me," I said.  Once I had a free hand, I reached for my blaster.  That Trandoshan was going to pay.

I felt her hand on my wrist.  "No," she said firmly, if a little wobbly.  "Nobody blames anything else on me."

I didn't have time to argue it now, so I just started climbing, hand over hand, carrying her weight and mine up the cable.  She closed her eyes and I thought for a second that I'd lost her again, but I felt a wave of energy buoying me up.  She used the Force to help us rise.  But even with the Force helping us, my muscles protested.

As we came to the edge of the transport's loading ramp, I heaved upward and tried to toss Noura's body onto solid surface.  It didn't quite work and I ended up between her thighs--the right way this time, but definitely the wrong situation.  She flopped herself backwards and rolled onto the ramp, sticking a hand down to help me.  I grappled for a handhold on the deck plating, gasping for air.

"Can we just agree that there's a joke in that somewhere and leave it at that?" she asked me, her own breathing labored from exertion. 

I was too winded to laugh, but I nodded.  "Good thing--Canderous--isn't here.  He'd have--a field day."

She snorted and rolled over onto her stomach.  I joined her in time to see our Darth Revan impersonator suddenly crumple to the ground in a blur of dark robes.  Just as suddenly, Dustil appeared at the bottom of the cable and began climbing up.

"That kid is so busted," Noura muttered next to me.

"As soon as I get the energy," I muttered, too tired to do much besides keep an eye on Mission's blue head-tails.  She faded into nothing but a shimmer, courtesy of her stealth emitter.  My eyes shifted over the crowd, looking for the Trandoshan crimelord.

"Commander," a voice came from behind me.  I turned my head to see a green Twi'lek who looked vaguely familiar--though with all the people we'd been meeting lately who both did and didn't want to kill us, that didn't narrow it down much.  "We need to start closing the ramp."

"No!  Mission and Dustil," I automatically said.

"Present and accounted for, Dad," Dustil's voice interrupted behind me.  I turned my head again to see him.  He was looking up at the green man.  "Hey--_Jev_."  His mouth set in a small smile that held no warmth.

"Hey Plebe," the green Twi'lek retorted mildly.  "Been getting a lot of attention lately, haven't you?"

Dustil shrugged.  "I got the job done."

"And everybody and their brother knows about it, don't they?"

Dustil scrambled to his feet.  "Listen--"

Revan stuck two fingers into her mouth and gave a piercing whistle.  "Enough you two.  Save the class warfare for some time when I'm not around."

I looked at her.  "Class warfare?"

"Don't you recognize him?"  She pointed to the Twi'lek.  "I'll give you a hint.  Caves.  Terentatek.  Shyrack dung up to our ankles?"

I would have slapped my forehead if I could have lifted an arm to do it.  "Korriban.  The runaway Sith."

"I'd appreciate that if you'd keep that from being public knowledge.  I have a new job with the Republic and I'd like to keep it."  Jev flashed a holobadge with an Intel insignia.  "Unlike poster boy, here, who hasn't quite mastered the art of subtlety in executing his assignments."

I felt compelled to come to my son's defense.  "There were extenuating circumstances," I said.  "I was there."  In fact, I _was_ the extenuating circumstances.

Jev's head-tails flicked.  "Those circumstances left Intel in a pretty tight bind."

"I knew the risks," Dustil shot out.  "I take full responsibility for my actions."  His lip curled up in a lopsided, wry grin.  "Besides, I think it was time for a change in career focus.  I'm going to see what the Jedi have to offer."

Jev raised an eyebrow.  "You always did have a talent for the hocus-pocus, Plebe."  His gaze shifted away from Dustil.  "You'd have made a good agent with a few more years under your belt, kid."

Dustil smirked.  "Maybe I'll be like a bad credit coin and turn up again to make your life miserable someday."

Jev helped Revan to her feet.  "I can only hope," the Twi'lek said dryly.  "In the meantime, there are quarters waiting for you all, courtesy of the Ambassador.  If you want to rest or freshen up, we'll let you know when we reach Yavin 13."

I struggled to stand, muscles shaking with renewed exertion.  I slid my arm around Revan's waist with a look at the green man.  His eyebrows went up again, but he backed away with a half-smile on his face.

Revan lifted her drooping head.  "Mission!" she said.  "We can't leave without Mission!"

"I'll make sure she's on board," Jev said.  "Let's clear the boarding ramp.  You're still in plain view of a lot of that crowd.  Anyone could take potshots at you and create a lot of problems for all of us."

I wanted to tell him about the Trandoshan, but Revan's sudden, jaw-cracking yawn took my attention away.  I ignored my protesting muscles--she wasn't that big of a load to carry--and scooped her up into my arms.  We staggered down the corridor, leaving the crowd and the hate behind.

I found a bunkroom on the roomy transport and strapped her in.  "D'we get ev'rybody?" she mumbled.

"Shh," I said.  "Get some sleep.  That stunner got you good.  I'll make sure everyone else is okay."

"Mission," she said.

I sighed.  "Will you let someone else run things for just a few minutes already, woman?"

She lifted one limp hand to my cheek.  "You c'n plan th' wedding."

"Oh, just great," I retorted, more to myself than to her, as her eyes had drifted shut again.  "Carth Onasi, star pilot, war hero, and wedding planner."  I leaned down and whispered into her ear, only half-kidding.  "I think I'll make you wear that Derallian dress again.  You know, the one with the laces?"


	93. Turning Tables

Turning Tables

Mission

Mission's head-tails couldn't be any flatter against her body as she watched Dustil at work in the Darth Revan getup.  During the search for the Star Forge, Juhani had done similar when she battled against their enemies--used the Force to make people too afraid to fight.  But Juhani's talents didn't extend to entire crowds like Dustil's did. 

The stink of many people suddenly afraid assaulted her.  She cringed, and clenched her hands.  I'm not falling for that again, she thought.  But it was damn hard to maintain the attitude when the blaster fired at Noura.

Next to her, Dustil muttered something foul enough to make her wonder if it was physically possible to do that to a bantha, never mind legal anywhere outside Nal Hutta.  "Time to split," he said.  "You ready?"

She nodded and felt the wind from his passing as he used Force speed to duck out from under the Darth Revan clothing and streak through the crowd towards the transport.  She reached for her belt and activated her stealth emitter.  It wouldn't keep people from being aware of a body next to them or pushing them out of the way, but it would keep them from figuring out it was the famous blue Twi'lek girl and notorious friend of Darth Revan doing the pushing.

The blaster seemed to trigger something in the crowd and all of a sudden, instead of milling and yelling, people started shoving and screaming.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Jedi lining the walls, and saw their hands go for their belts.

A booming voice echoed seemingly inside and outside of her skull at the same time.  "STOP!"

She turned to see the sprite-like little Master Vandar, two gray-green hands held up and a stern look on his face.  Much of the crowd, Jedi included, obeyed him.  She took the opportunity to bend down and get Dustil's discarded robes.

"Angry you are," Master Vandar said.  "Understand, we do!"  Jeers from troublemakers met these words.  Mission stuffed the Darth Revan getup into her pack, feeling shocks from the stealth emitter zip through her abdomen.  _Damn thing's already shorting out again_, she thought grimly.  _Fix it and fix it and fix it again and it's still guaranteed to screw up at the worst possible minute_.

On the cable, Dustil made his way up hand over laborious hand.  Mission knew she didn't have the same strength.  Behind her, Master Vandar still spoke, his voice laden with the power of the Force behind it.  "From Jedi, must justice for Jedi come.  Our way, it is, and our way, it has been.  Agree with us, the Republic Senate does.  _Your_ senators do."

"Sure, while they're all safe on Coruscant!  _We're_ the ones with the Sith Lord in our midst!"  One of the troublemakers in the crowd shouted, practically in her ear.  Just to be ornery, she shoved him hard, dancing out of the way as he whirled, distracted for a few minutes from stirring the pot.

The crowd jostled her, invisible as she was, as she pushed through the mass of bodies.  Master Vandar answered.  "Served, justice will be," Master Vandar said firmly.  "But by mob rule, not.  Travels in the morning, this Council does, for a final reckoning."

Mission didn't like the sound of that.  _Noura was right to be suspicious of the Council.  For all their nice words, they sure sound like they're ready to ship her off to the Kessel mines.  Keep the peace my left head-tail!_

As she reached the transport's lift cable, Zaalbar and HK-47 came up to meet her.  With a pop and crackle of static, her stealth emitter failed once again, for good this time.  "Am I glad to see you!" she said to the Wookiee.

Zaalbar groaned.  [The Jedi don't seem to be controlling matters.]

"Agreement: With one lightsaber, I could ensure this collection of meatbags never rose up in protest again."

"Shut _up_, HK," Mission said.  "Are you _trying_ to get us killed?  Sheesh!"  Still, she felt a lot better now that the assassin droid and her best friend were at her back. 

"Hey, it's that crazy droid!"  Somebody yelled, practically in her ear.

[That's all we need.]

"It's Darth Revan's assassin droid!"  People started pushing at her harder, and the press of bodies jostled her away from Big Z.

The Wookiee roared, prompting the people closest to them to start screaming, "Mad Wookiee!"

"No," Mission muttered to herself.  "_That's_ all we need."  She jumped and used a short Rodian as a springboard to somersault herself back towards Zaalbar.  She landed on two jabbering Duros and clambered over their bald-headed bodies, stretching out her hand for Zaalbar.

Big Z grabbed her by the wrists and tossed her up in the air. Her hands caught the cable at about shoulder height.  She wrapped her legs and arms around the cable, struggling to keep from sliding back down.  But she wasn't as strong as the others, and her earlier smartass remark to Dustil came back to haunt her.  _Looks like I'm the one too wimpy to climb a rope_.

A flash temporarily blinded her and she recognized it as being from a holorecorder.  A pair of distinctively recognizable horns caught her eye. _The deal's off, Borx_, she thought grimly as angry hands tore at her clothing.  She held onto the steel cable as best as she could, but felt her hands slipping.  The ship above her tottered back and forth, firing its atmospheric engines to compensate. 

Maybe Noura's luck with stupid plans had finally run out.  The cable was supposed to winch them up to airborne safety within seconds.  But the winch was apparently jammed, and the mob wasn't as collectively mindless as they were supposed to be.

Below her, Zaalbar roared at the crowd.  Revan's orders had been strict.  "Do not, under any circumstances, injure any one of them, even in the slightest.  Be as menacing as you want, but I'm not giving them another thing to blame me for."

Zaalbar and HK would be accompanying Jolee to Yavin 13 on the Jedi transport.  Zaalbar agreed with Jolee that the Jedi Masters were likely to interfere even when they claimed they were just there to observe.  Her Wookiee friend told her he wanted to make sure that observing was all they did.

Her arms trembled with exertion as she swung wildly on the cable, propelled by the crowd's grasping.  As she faced the shadowy corner near the exit and spotted her Devaronian nemesis once again, she repeated the mental chant.  No way was he going to be able to fulfill his promise to let her friends live out their lives in peace.  His blabbing already had irreversible consequences.  And after this, she'd swallow her pride and beg her friends to go to Hoth and help her rescue her brother on her own.

"Climb up, Mission!" Dustil shouted down encouragingly.

Mission looked up.  "I can't," she yelled back.  "It's too slippery!"

"Try anyway," he said.  Typical Jedi.

"Big Z," she called down.  The Wookiee bellowed.  "C'mere."

Zaalbar moved over to stand directly beneath her and held out one furry paw, swiping menacingly at the crowd with the other.  She put her foot in his hand and hoisted herself further up the rope, rappelling up the side of her Wookiee friend like a mountain climber.  By the time she got to his shoulders, she was almost halfway up the cable.  "Thanks, buddy," she called out.  Zaalbar waved a paw.  "See you in a few!"

[Be careful!]

She found she had the strength to shimmy up the rope another meter or so, but her arms were shaking and her legs were burning with the simple effort of keeping herself from sliding back down and she clung to the cable, frozen.

Suddenly, the winch jerked and she found herself rising.  Yes!

No.  After a scant meter, the winch ground to a halt.  She was still her own height away from the bottom of the ship's landing ramp.

She gritted her teeth and forced her fingers to let go of the cable.  _There_.  _Now wrap 'em back around it, only higher up_.  She uncrossed her legs, drew her knees up to her chest, and crossed them around the cable again.  _Now straighten up_, she ordered her body.

After much protest, it complied.  Almost there!

The ship jerked and her hands slipped.  Fire burned into her palms, and she could feel steely slivers bury themselves into her flesh.  _No_, she thought miserably.  _I can't do it any more_.  Her hands stung, her legs and arms were cramped horribly, and her vest had a huge tear in the back that was letting the breeze in.

"Need a hand?"  An almost unfamiliar voice called down to her.  She looked up to see a green Twi'lek smiling down at her.

"Jev?" she asked.  He held out a hand.  She grabbed it and he pulled her all the way into the ship.

She lay on the landing ramp for a few minutes while her legs cramped and uncramped and her palms throbbed.  "Oh yeah," she said out loud. "Borx can go take a flying leap."

Jev lay next to her, barely breathing hard.  Of course not.  He hadn't had to shimmy up a rope to safety from a screaming mob.

"He seems quite pleased that he convinced you to take up his offer for a meeting with Slooka."

Mission froze in place.  "What d'you know about that?"

She stared hard at the green man.  His head-tails were carefully still, wrapped close around his neck along with all his secrets.  She narrowed her eyes.  "If you had something to do with this, I'll--well, I don't know what I'll do, but I promise you, it'll be painful, and I'll do it even if it takes a hundred years to get around to it."

The landing ramp began to close, with them still on it.  Jev didn't seem worried.  Rather, he turned on his side and propped his head on one hand.  He drummed the fingers of the other on the plates of the landing ramp.  "I didn't," he said.  "But give me a little credit.  I know a lot about you, Mission.  I wouldn't have offered to recruit you if I hadn't done my homework."

"Right," she said cautiously, feeling the hydraulic lifts vibrate underneath her.  "And I'm sure I must have been a long file to read, too, huh?"

"I saw enough to know that you instinctively find the advantage in just about any situation," Jev said.  "That you can put up with an awful lot of...bantha poodoo...when you're trying to get what you want.  And you're clever enough to get it, by obvious means or subtle."

In spite of the fact that she shared a species with him, and his head-tails didn't betray duplicity, she still thought he was starting to sound suspiciously like Borx.  Just with a different goal in mind.  "So what is it that you want from me?" she asked.  "Since Borx isn't getting anything out of me after tonight."

"You know he's got more on your friends than he's already released."

She made a pish sound.  "Their names are already worse than core-slime.  Borx overplayed his little rumor hand of Pazaak, and there's no way he can reverse its effects.  He's got nothing to hold me anymore."

"What about your brother?" Jev asked quietly.

Worry made her stomachs churn.  "I'll ask Noura to help me."

"Is she in any position to help?"

Her head-tails stiffened.  Noura could do anything.  She'd taken on Lord Malak.  Blown up the Star Forge.  Turned the tide of the Sith War.  Saved Griff already.  She sighed in defeat.  Noura deserved a break, and she, Mission, needed to start solving her own problems.  "What's your point?"

Jev sprang lightly to his feet.  He leaned down and stretched a hand out to her.  "I want to put you in a position to help."

Her eyes narrowed.  "Are you in league with him, or something?"

Jev shook his head.  His head-tails waved slightly in amusement.  "Did you ever think about turning the tables on Borx?  Of getting something on him?"

She raised her eyebrows and her head-tails rippled with wry amusement.  "And how would I do that?"

"You could accept my offer.  Come work for us."

The deck-plates were starting to chill as the ship broke from the atmosphere of Yavin 4 and headed into orbit.  "How could I work for you when I have to work for Borx?"

Jev crouched down beside her.  "Borx is a rancor."

"I was thinking more along the lines of lobotomized Gammorrean."

Jev laughed.  "He's a rancor.  But he thinks he's a Terentatek, just because he knows a few and they haven't eaten him yet."

"And this is comforting how?"  She looked up at him, determined to find the punchline of the joke.

"My bosses like to hunt down Terentateks.  And we give our hunters the resources to do it.  You, my dear, are in a unique position.  Go with him, Mission.  But work for us.  Borx wants to deliver a nice little tidbit to his Terentatek friends, and he's got you wrapped up like nerf medallions in wine sauce."  Jev smiled, showing teeth.  He stretched his hand out to her once again.  "You can be that snack, or you can be the poison delicacy that burns through their guts like a thermal detonator."


	94. Midnight Tremors

Midnight Tremors

Bastila

The shadows of my mind swam and swirled before my eyes; dark on dark patterns of non-color that resolved themselves into shapes and forms just out of my reach, no matter how hard I concentrated.  Frustration made me short-tempered and edgy and I swung my arms out in front of me.  My efforts were rewarded after a fashion when the shapes resolved themselves into an all-too-familiar environment.  I felt the cold seep into me from the soles of my feet all the way up to my throbbing temples. 

The pulsing energy of the Dark Side, hot and angry, swirled around me.  The figure before me resolved itself into a face I knew almost as well as my own, a face I'd seen in so many dreams and visions we might as well be wearing each other's skin.  Revan stretched out her hand to me, wearing those ridiculous-looking Star Forge robes in which a Tusken Raider's entire family could live comfortably.  Yet despite the ridiculous picture she made, Light and Power radiated from her, enveloping me, eddying around me and underscoring the emptiness I tried to fill with rage and blood.  "It's not too late, Bastila," she said.  "I won't give up on you."

"Why can't I beat you?" I screamed at her.  But I knew in my dark heart what I was truly asking.  _Why haven't you slain me yet?_

"The Dark Side can never truly win," she said.  "There's still light in you.  I can feel it."  She put a hand on her chest.  "In here.  You don't have to be a slave to your hate." 

"Why won't you die?" I screeched, attacking her again.  I let hate take my saber where it would, and every lunge was met with her parry, every strike, a counterstrike.  "Why can't I get free?"

"You're mine, Bastila.  Carth is mine, Bastila. Juhani, Jolee, Zaalbar, Mission, the droids, hell, even Canderous is mine. So are you. And I don't give up on what's mine. I trust you, Bastila."

She shut down her lightsaber.  "I trust you, Bastila," she repeated.

I dropped my lightsaber and sank to my knees, sobbing.  "I--I cannot do it," I said.  "I have failed.  Fallen.  You have defeated me.  You are stronger in the Light than you have ever been."  I looked up at her, hating that her own eyes filled with tears.  "Please, show me the mercy of killing me quickly."

She sank down to her knees beside me.  "I can't do that, Bastila.  Not when there is still light in you."

"I can never redeem myself--the things I've done--"  _Kill me, please_, I silently pleaded.

"Shh," she said, stroking her fingers down the sides of my face, tracing the tracks of my tears.

"Please," I begged her.  "I want to die.  Grant me that mercy, at least."

"I can't," she said, taking me in her arms. 

_I hate you, Revan!  I hate you for not killing me when you had the chance!_

She framed my face in her hands.  "I love you."

I gaped at her, the breath leaving my lungs in an anguished sob.

"My sister," she said gently, stroking my face.  "I'm so sorry."

Something broke inside me and I began to cry, great, heaving sobs that wracked my entire body.  She put her arms around me, and I put my head on her shoulder and soaked her sleeve with my tears.

I felt wetness on my own cheek and pulled back to find that she was crying also.  She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.  But we hadn't cried on the Star Forge.  I blinked the moisture away from my eyes and looked around.  The alien architecture of the ancient base no longer surrounded us.  Nothing but gray mist and the two of us.

She sniffed again and looked around.  "Is this your dream, or is it mine?"

I shook my head.  "I--I suppose it's mine.  I didn't even realize I had these feelings about you."

"Sometimes I thought you hated me since the moment we met."

"Now I know this isn't a dream," I said.  "The bond--"

She nodded.  "I know.  But--we've never shared our own memories before.  Only Revan and Malak's."

"I don't know," I said.  "I should consult with the Masters."

"We're a couple of smart chicks," she said, smiling.  "We should be able to figure it out.  Were you sleeping?"

"I was," I said.  I don't actually remember falling asleep, only--my face grew suddenly hot.  Even in dreams I am...repressed.

Revan looked at me, confusion clouding her eyes.  Good to know that even in dream I can maintain a small measure of privacy.

However, no sooner did I finish the thought than Revan's eyes lit with understanding.  "Were you sleeping _alone_?" she asked, eyes suddenly dancing with merriment.

I sighed in exasperation.  "Is that all you think about?"

She made a face.  "I have to resign myself to thinking about it since it isn't actually happening to me."  Her voice took on a frustrated edge.

I raised an eyebrow.  "I knew Carth could be slow sometimes, but--"

She rolled her eyes.  "Slow, fast, I wouldn't care.  People just won't leave us alone long enough."

 She reached a hand up to play nervously with the braids in her topknot and I noticed the shadows under her eyes.  Lack of sex couldn't be solely responsible for them.  "What's happened?" I asked.

She shook her head.  "It's--I don't want to go into it, just in case this really is a dream and we wake up not remembering anything, but let's just say that the galaxy has a disappointingly short memory."

"One does not become a Jedi and save the galaxy for the glory of it," I said primly.

She stuck out her tongue and made a rude noise.  "I'm not asking for glory--just a little peace and quiet."

"I've had quite a bit of that in the past three days," I said.

She raised an eyebrow.  "Peace and quiet and Canderous?  Now I know I must be dreaming, because that's just downright surreal."

I couldn't help but smile, even as I realized the implications of my own words.  "You would be surprised," I said.  "Or perhaps you wouldn't, given your annoyingly persistent need to rearrange the galaxy to your satisfaction."

"But this time around, I'm playing matchmaker instead of Evil Overlord.  Don't I get credit for that?"  She sobered.  "You know I was just as stunned as you when Carth and Canderous pulled their stunt in the bathhouse."  She smiled, a real smile that reached her eyes and I felt a flood of affection radiating from her to me. 

I knew I should draw away from it, but here in the land of dream, I released the anger in my heart and simply let things be.  "That doesn't mean you and I won't have a reckoning," I said.

She nodded.  "I know.  If this isn't a dream, then you haven't forgiven me for the Star Forge."  Her voice was tinged with sadness.

I suddenly felt horrid for my outburst earlier on the mesa with Canderous.  Or rather, more horrid, since I'd nearly Force-choked him over it.  I stretched out a hand to her.  "Revan, please," I said.  She twined her fingers in mine.  "I honestly did not know that I harbored such dark feelings in my heart."  I shook my head.  "I still don't understand why the Council didn't see them, why I even feel them."

"Maybe because you're human?" she said, quirking up one eyebrow.  "And after the three days I've had, I'm not so sure the Council didn't see it."

"Did they say something?" I asked, sudden urgency rushing through me.  I had my own ambiguous feelings about seeing the Council again, but I latched onto the crutch that their wisdom would explain away and exorcise any more unconscious failures lurking in my subconscious.  "Please, you must tell me."

"When does the Council _not_ have plenty to say on a subject?  But I'll fill you in as best as I can when we get there.  We're en route now."

I did some quick calculations in my head.  "That means you'll be arriving just after dawn.  I thought the confrontation was to take place at noon?"  I put a hand over my mouth.  "You can't ambush him unfairly!"

She laughed.  "Listen to you.  Do you think I can't take Canderous in a fair fight?  I'm the Dark Lord Revan, remember?"

"You are not that Revan," I said sternly.  "I was correct when I told you that on the Rakatan temple summit."

"To the rest of the galaxy, that's going to be an insignificant detail."  She smiled wryly. 

She looked around.  The gray mist around us began to move, swirling with air currents, and I felt the stirrings of consciousness start to tug me out of wherever we were.  "We don't have much time," I said.

She nodded.  "Then I'll make it quick.  Where do you see your future?"

"What?"  I frowned, not comprehending her.

She stretched her other hand out to twine her fingers with mine.  "I mean--do you love him?"

I looked up, determined to meet her eyes.  The words, "Jedi do not love," nearly tumbled out of my mouth, but I held my tongue.  The question asked by the planet returned again to plague me.  And here, I could not find the strength to lie to Revan.  "I--the Council will never permit it."

She raised an eyebrow.  "And they did so well keeping Canderous away from you so far, didn't they?"

I let out breath on a frustrated sigh.  True, the Masters hadn't pressed me unduly to return to the Enclave.  Hadn't forced me to admit to a relationship with Canderous.  Had acquiesced to Noura's request--demand--to "keep" me.  "The rules are explicit," I said.  "Emotional...entanglements lead to impassioned outbursts."

"If they're done right," she interjected cheerfully, then looked at me quizzically.  "Was it done right for you?" she asked.

I sent her a stern look.  She blinked her eyes.  "Come on, I have to live vicariously.  Throw me a tidbit, at least."

"Canderous is a man of extensive experience and infinite creativity," I finally responded, fighting a blush.  "What do you think?"

She stuck out her lip.  "I think I'm going to wake up in a very bad, very jealous mood."  But her eyes twinkled.  "What about you?  How will you wake up?"

I wasn't sure how to answer her.  "I've not shared sleep with anyone ever before.  I didn't think I'd find it so...soothing."  I looked away.  "I don't know what to do.  If I leave the Order--I can't even imagine life outside the Order.  I can't fight the Dark side alone.  I need the Masters."

She untangled our fingers to scrub a hand down her face.  "You know, I think you're the only one who believes that.  I've been studying Mandalorians.  They don't exactly carry low expectations.  Canderous gave you a great honor, in his own weird way."

I nodded.  "I know.  But how do I make it all work out?  You're the one that manipulates people and situations according to your will."  I didn't bother to disguise the resentment in my voice.

Her image began to waver.  "I don't want to fight him tomorrow," she said.  "But I will."

"He won't accept a thrown fight," I said.  "It will be an insult to him."  Odd how compassion for his traditions seemed to come so suddenly naturally to me.  Where was my scorn of such violence?

She shook her head.  "I won't throw the fight.  I have an advantage over him.  I have the Force."  Her image flickered again, and I began to feel hard ground beneath my body--my real body.  "I'll win with it."

The gray mist fell down between us like a curtain and I settled back into my body, eyes snapping open. 

She was right, I realized.  Canderous had no such advantage, and in single combat, Revan could simply Force-wave him into unconsciousness.   My heart trembled at the thought--not because Canderous couldn't take care of himself, but because he'd already likely thought of this.  I suddenly hated Revan all over again for being cunning and powerful enough to know that, and even hated Canderous for--for loving me enough to persist so stubbornly in a course that was doomed to fail.

I felt heat at my back and realized that he had curved his body around mine in sleep, and I'd burrowed into his warmth.  The darkness of true night sky was punctuated by thousands of stars, and the lateness of the hour had given time for all three moons to rise.  A crimson crescent, like a bloody scythe, hung low in the western sky, while a milky half-full moon shone above it, and a nearly full, dark gold disk rode high above, each casting conflicting shadows that turned the landscape alien and fluid.  Far in the north, the huge presence of the gas giant was little more than a large arc taking over a quarter of the sky, like a distant mountain with a faint orange halo surrounding it.

I sat up, suddenly needing space, the violent emotions roiling through me in waves that made me shake.  Instantly, Canderous was up beside me, searching the shadows for signs of movement.  "You okay?" he asked.

"Just a dream," I said.  My voice caught in my throat and I sounded hoarse, even to my own ears.  I heard him turn and the sharp clicks of the backpack's catches releasing echoed in the darkness.  His hand brushed my arm and I heard the slosh of water in a container.  I took the offered canteen and drank deeply, using the water to compose myself.

I kept my eyes open, focused on the crimson quarter moon.  I didn't want to close them and see Revan.  "They're coming," I said softly.  "I can feel it through the bond."  Bloody ironic, since I'd spent the last few days counting hours until this farce could conclude.  Now I didn't want it to end.  I wanted to remain here on the mesa with nobody else around, with time standing still, so I wouldn't have to face the rest of the galaxy's expectations of me.

"We'll deal with them when they get here," he said simply.  "Come here."

Without waiting for me to decide, he pulled my shoulders back to rest against him.  The crisp hair sprinkled over his chest tickled my bare skin.  He wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands coming to rest on the pink, tender, and slightly itchy skin at my abdomen where the wolf had slashed me earlier.  His fingers stroked the new scars with an almost reverent touch, warm against my skin.  His touch feels so natural to me now, the heat of his body part of my environment.  I don't believe he's ever felt cold to me.  He radiated head like a miniature sun.  Perhaps it's a function of his regenerative implant, or perhaps it's because he's the son of a desert planet, and carries the ambient heat of the homeworld that birthed him.

Whatever the reason, I soaked up that heat now, greedy for it to chase away the chill guilt I felt over the dream.  Or vision, or whatever it was.  I leaned my head back against him and looked up at the star-blanketed sky.

The question I could not answer nagged at me.  _What are you, Bastila Shan?_  I am a Jedi, I answered.  Only that wasn't completely true anymore.  When the Sith Code echoed in my memories.  When I could not follow the Jedi Code of emotionless peace.  When I could not let go of my anger at Revan, and when I refused to acknowledge even in dream, the decision I had made regarding Canderous.

"Stop it," he said quietly.  I stiffened.  "You're beating yourself up again," he said.  "It doesn't take a Jedi mind-reader to see that."

"I should be grateful that I'm alive," I said.  "I _am_ grateful that I'm alive.  So why can I not release the anger I have towards Revan?  I don't hate her.  I can't hate her.  She saved the galaxy.  Saved me."

"She's done a lot of saving in the past few months," he said.  "It gets on your nerves after awhile, doesn't it?"

The complete absurdity--yet unarguable truth--of his statement made me laugh, a sudden, sharp sound I didn't expect to hear from my own throat.  "It does.  Doubly so if you are yourself accustomed to doing the saving," I admitted.  "It's an awful thing to admit, but part of me enjoyed the glory of being the Republic's best chance.  It gave me value."

"I understand the lure of glory," he said, after a long pause.  "There is a...fine line, between the honor of doing that which you were born to do, because you're born to do it, and the arrogance of doing it because of the accolades you receive afterwards."

I pulled away from him enough to turn and look at him.  His features were pensive.  "That sounds like Jedi wisdom," I said.

He snorted.  "When you're ass-deep in Jedi, you end up shaking the Force out of your underwear."

"That's Noura talking."

He shook his head.  "Carth, actually.  When I accused him of getting too heady on Dantooine."

"Yes, well, where you find one, the other's not far behind," I said.  "Part of me wishes that I had that kind of influence on the people around me."  I leaned back into his embrace.  "The rest of me is inordinately grateful that I don't."  The thought of leaving other people as raw as I felt now gave me chills.

"You're not without influence yourself," he said.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself to take strength and heat from him.  He moved slightly behind me, and I opened my eyes to see him stretch an arm out.  He thumbed the setting switch on the blaster in his hand to its lowest setting and fired it at a nearby cluster of rocks.  The energy from the blaster bolt left the rocks glowing, giving off heat to warm my front, while Canderous had my back.  I hadn't even realized I was shivering.

Without the Force to protect her, the contest between Revan and Canderous would come down to strength and wits.  While Revan had plenty of the latter, Canderous outweighed her, had over a quarter-meter's advantage, and no small manner of wits himself.

And, I realized--admitted, confessed, accepted--he had me.


	95. Flight

A/N: Eternal gratitude goes to my betas and inspiration-snufflers: Intrepid the Evil Mistress, Aroseb Grim, Xenzen, Vyperhand, and JediQB. You guys put up with my neuroses with remarkable strength and tact, and show admirable restraint in not telling me to stuff a sock in it already and just write. I do appreciate that.

Special thanks go to those of you who took the time to review my work here on : Trunxluvr, Tim Radley, Emerald Stargazer, PinkTinkaBelle, lax, Blasphemae, Gear152, Cassie Morgan, modern Ponine, JDNoa, snackfiend, Kazic - I love my Canderous, too g , CrazyVasey, Winterfox - I honestly tremble at the thought that I might not live up to your standards with every update, and I thank you for the challenge. Plutospawn, thanks for finally reviewing! I apologize if I've missed anyone who reviewed me...but know this...every single review is precious to me. AtF would have been a lot shorter of a story with fewer reviews.

I know I said this would be the last update. I lied again. But we really are getting into the last chapters. I just wanted to update again before too much time had already passed.

Flight

Carth

I stepped back out into the corridor of our rescue ride and found Darth Revan waiting for me. Or rather, Darth Dustil. Or maybe, Darth You Are In So Much Trouble Young Man. "Nice costume back there," I said. "What the hell were you thinking?" He'd dropped Darth Revan's outer robes, but the under-robes and hood still wrapped his body like a shroud.

Dustil pushed the hood back. "It was a distraction. It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, on Noura," I snapped. "It was a stupid, stupid thing you did, Dustil. Did you even consider the effect it would have on people? On her?" My tone hardened as I secured her pack in the footlocker. "On you?"

"_Revan _will get over it," he said, his own voice chilly. "Or it will be a vulnerability exploited by every smart enemy she has."

I stomped up behind him and slammed my hand down on his shoulder. The ship shuddered as if someone forgot to rev the engines before shifting into super-atmospheric speed. Dustil staggered. My fingers dug into the cold, soft fabric, and the garment seemed to draw me to it. "How dare you?" I said, my voice low with barely leashed fury. "Is that master in your head teaching you nothing?"

He turned around and regarded me with flat eyes. His mother's eyes, sure as he had my chin and build, but they were flat and cold. "It's a simple truth, Father. Even if he did have something to say, my master wouldn't deny it."

"I ought to throw you in the brig for that," I snapped, and elbowed the security panel of the first door we came to. The transport was a customized YV triple-six and I knew what the layout ought to be. But the door opened instead to an office that would have been spacious, had it not been full of cargo containers. I'd have thought that was what the cargo hold was for.

I covered my annoyance with words. "I think your master would have something to say about your competitive outlook. And your choice of evening wear," I said over the increasing shake of the engines. _Why am I so antagonistic right now?_ I wondered. My own mind answered itself. _Because you saw her scared, and it scared you_. My brain was right. Noura scared really did scare me. I'd seen her fatalistic, resigned, sad, suicidal, homicidal, and a hundred other moods I could barely describe, but seeing her scared frozen really set me off. To think that wonderfully creative mind could be frozen...I tapped the third door's security panel and found the small brig. There were more boxes in the corners, and one of the cells housed the parts to what looked like an aquarium. Fish and other marine creatures swam and bobbed in its murky depths.

"My 'costume choice' and my 'competitive outlook' wouldn't change what you know is the truth, Father. I'm just surprised that you let yourself get so far into believing the end the Jedi crafted for you in those awards ceremonies."

He and I both ignored the last door. The narrow construction of the portal screamed, "'fresher."

I had to put out a hand to steady myself, whether from blind rage or from the ship sounding as if it were gearing up to fall apart, I couldn't say. "Don't you talk to me about Jedi meddling. I've lost you to both them and the Sith because of their meddling and half-truths."

"Well how about a full truth, then, Father. This is your life. You throw in with her, and this robe and mask will be in bed with you and with her for the rest of your life." He turned around to glare at me. The effect of the swirling robes was somewhat lessened by a sudden lurch of the ship as we picked up speed. What the hell is that pilot doing? I wondered.

"Don't you dare presume to lecture me about accepting her past," I said, my voice shaking as badly as the ship. "I have, a lot more than practically anyone else around her. Even her."

"You're in it pretty deep now," he said, as we rounded the corner back to the cargo hold, where Mission and Juhani had found jumpseats to strap into. "But your first mistake was fooling yourself into thinking for even a minute that you two could have a normal life."

The ship barrel-rolled while still in planetary gravity and my stomach did a backflip and landed on the roof of my mouth. My feet flew out from under me, as did Dustil's. "Why are you acting this way, Dustil?" I asked, rolling to my feet. "You're being hateful." This was the angry boy I'd found back at the Sith Academy on Korriban, not the thoughtful young man with which I'd been slowly rebuilding a relationship.

His landing made the cowl fall back over his head, the soft black fabric smothering him. He looked up at me from beneath it. "Am I being hateful, Father? Or am I just acting in my nature? I can never be sure now, can I?"

A sudden instant of pressure relief told me we escaped Yavin 4's atmosphere, but I breathed no easier. I put my hand out and pushed the cowl back from his face, pulling him up from the floor. "You always have a choice, son," I said.

The grav stabilizers kicked in and the ride stopped rattling my internal organs and the engine noise faded into the dull, rhythmic, background throb I was used to. I appreciated the ambassador's quick response, but her pilot was obviously more used to flying in atmosphere than leaving it.

He struggled to keep his feet. "Well, I made one," he said. "That crowd down there acted out of fear. I chose to control them with it."

Mission's head popped out of a doorway. "Is that pilot driving with his feet?"

Another Twi'lek head, this one belonging to the green man that welcomed us aboard, appeared in the doorway above her. "Varenna's man is an excellent pilot."

"Too bad they left him on the ground," Dustil muttered.

"I'm going up there," I said. "Mission, Noura's in the last bunkroom in that direction. Keep an eye on her."

"You got it, flyboy." The blue Twi'lek girl glanced from Secura to Dustil.

"And see if you can comm the Ebon Hawk. Find out what's going on in the system and whether or not Canderous and Bastila have killed each other yet."

"If they did, I bet at least one of 'em died happy," she muttered. "Juhani said she was going up to the cockpit to lend a hand to the crew."

"That's where I'm going," I said. "If I can trust the three of you to behave." I looked from Jev to Dustil to Mission.

Jev offered me a smile that I didn't trust as far as I could throw a Hutt. "The plebe and I can catch up on old times. The galley's this way."

"Good luck," I said as I turned towards the ladder hatch that led to the second level half-deck that held all the command functions of the ship...unless Varenna had modified that, too, and the cockpit was really someplace out on one of the wings. "There's an aquarium in the brig and cargo in the captain's office. Force only knows what's in the kitchen--maybe a petting zoo."

"Then we won't have far to go to feed the baby animals," Jev said with a jaunty salute of his head-tails. "Come on, plebe. You can tell me all about your adventures in cross-dressing. You look kind of cute in women's clothing, even if they are Sith Lord robes."

Mission's belly-laugh chased me up the ladder. Chalk up another one into the realm of weird. My future wife is an ex-Sith Lord, I'm the best man at a Mandalorian's wedding--or pallbearer at his funeral--my son used to be a Sith, and is now a Jedi with a Master implanted in his head, and to top it all off, he dresses up in women's clothes to scare the locals. I reached the second deck with a keen longing for the good old days when my only troubles were that the Dark Lord and the Fleet Admiral of the Sith wanted to skin me alive and use me as a wall decoration.

It turned out that my young blue friend was right. The pilot was indeed driving with his feet. The Dug swore and cursed in his clicking, buzzing native language while Ambassador Aktil bent her head at the co-pilot's station.

"Might I be of service, Ambassador?" I asked.

She turned. "Commander. Welcome aboard the _Mirialis_. I'd offer you hospitality, but we're having some...technical difficulties."

"Your port ion generator is out of synchronization, and it sounds like the last person to give this thing a tune-up put in a power converter that's a modified YT-specific instead of the manufacturer-approved YV-class power converter. Not so much a problem in atmosphere and on short trips at leisure speeds, but it tends to go Hutt-shaped on high-speed maneuvers." I cocked my head. "And the deck plating is loose over the engine coupling service corridor. There's also an aquarium in your brig."

"Is that all?" The ambassador raised her eyebrow. "You know, you should never tell a girl her dress isn't pretty when she's come to the party as your date."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said as the ship lurched again. "Can I help her walk around in her high heels before she crashes?"

She nodded. "This is Gerda. Gerda, Commander Onasi will take over my duties as co-pilot."

The Dug shot me a look from his bright, beady eyes, shrugged his shoulders--which made the ship dip in an echoing shrug--and turned back to his console. "If the human can keep up, he is welcome," he said in raspy Basic.

I took the seat she'd vacated and set my hands to the controls. The ship, praise the Force, leveled itself out. My dear friend the ambassador's talents lay strictly within political space, not outer space.

She put a hand on my shoulder. "Are your friends unhurt?"

I nodded. "Noura took a stun bolt to the midsection. She's sleeping it off in the starboard bunkroom. Mission's with her."

"I'm sorry," she said. "There's a two-onebee droid in the medical bay. It's housed behind the bathtub."

"Riiight," I said. "Tell me again why there's an aquarium in your brig." The star field evened out in front of me and I found that by programming a power fluctuation in time with the rhythm of the out of sync engine, I could smooth out our ride a little. The trick was, I had to goose the power manually for it to be effective.

"The galley didn't have room."

"Of course not. Er...what's in the galley?" I asked, knowing even before I spoke that I didn't really want to know.

"My hunting trophies."

I blinked, thinking of the mounted heads, horns, tails, and other body parts of the various beasts she'd been delighted to rhapsodize about at the reception. I hoped Dustil was having a good time foraging for food among them.

"Tell me, Commander," Aktil's smooth voice, childlike in timbre, yet so mature in content, broke my train of thought. "Did you identify the shooter?"

"A Trandoshan by the name of Sadeet," I said. "You know of him?"

"I know Sadeet well enough to know his political leanings don't include caring about the Jedi or the Sith one way or another," she said. "And I know Sadeet also does not use his weapons on the stun setting very often."

"The Trandoshan had a companion. A cloaked and hooded biped. His scent was...human, and familiar." A second female voice, deeper and accented, told me Juhani had found her way to the bridge.

"Master Jedi, glad we could offer you some assistance," Varenna said. In the reflection of the viewscreen, I saw her bow to the Cathari Jedi.

"Your hospitality, and your help, is much appreciated, Ambassador," Juhani said.

Cloaked and hooded bipeds were not high on my list of welcome sights. And at any rate, it wasn't Sadeet's sidekick's garb that made Noura freeze like she did. "One of his lackeys, no doubt," I said. "Canderous, Zaalbar, and I ran afoul of him before we headed into the jungle."

I missed my mark and the ship lurched again. "Not surprising," Juhani said, dropping into a low crouch to keep her feet. "Trandoshans have been selling Wookiees into slavery for as long as the two races have been spacefaring."

I grimaced, knowing how she felt about slavery. "They must have been real happy when Czerka came to Kashyyyk. Speaking of cloaks and hoods, did you see who else showed up?"

Juhani's ears flattened. "I would have expected Dustil's master to have counseled more sense," she murmured to me.

My comm chirped before I could say that I thought Dustil had more sense in his own right. "Talk to me," I said, sparing a glance from the power gauge readouts to the viewscreen. The gas giant of Yavin grew larger. We would be using the accretion edge of the planet's gravity well to swing around to the other side of it, and come into the orbit of Yavin 13.

"Thanks for the smooth-out, old guy." Mission said. "I got some news off Holonet you're gonna wanna hear."

"Am I going to like it?" I asked, already knowing I wasn't.

"The Republic Senate is deploying a peacekeeping detail to the system."

Beside me, Varenna swore. "Just what we need. Peacekeepers," she muttered.

"Does it say why?" I asked the Twi'lek.

"It says that it's a show of good faith from the Republic to the citizens of the Yavin system, in light of the recent Sith attack." Her mocking tone showed how much she thought of that reason.

"Uh-huh. And what's the real one?"

"They're coming for Noura. Plug your datapad into the port up there and I'll transfer the data."

Juhani already had her hands in my jacket, taking my datapad from my inside pocket. If it were Noura, I'd have said something, but you just didn't make those kinds of jokes with the Cathar woman. Not even Canderous made those kinds of jokes with her. The only person brash and foolish enough was Noura.

The ship started to shudder as we went deeper into the gravity well. Gerda the Dug muttered something and his feet twitched on the controls. I focused all my attention on timing the power surges. I felt Varenna behind me, reading over Juhani's shoulder...or under her elbow, as the case was with the short Melodie.

"Good faith, my mother's tailfin," she spat. "Today's news cycle from Coruscant says the Bothans are calling for the Jedi Order to be fully accountable to the Senate for your lady friend's actions."

An asteroid hit my stomach. "They ought to be accountable to her, first," I said.

Varenna kept going as if I hadn't spoken. "And the Senate wants Revan herself to answer them on Coruscant."

"Something about where a third of their fleet went, I bet." Even the Dug picked up on my sarcasm and swiveled his long-jawed head towards me. "I wanted to take her there for dinner in a swanky restaurant, not for a kangaroo trial in the court of public condemnation."

"When you are in politics, Commander, your jury is always the public. I suggest, instead of a nice dinner, you buy your ladyfriend a skilled public relations manager."

I thought of the blaster at my hip. There's all the public relations we really need. She needs a bodyguard, not a spin doctor.

"There is more," Juhani said as she sat at the nav station. "The comm stream from the system traffic beacons indicates that four--I do not believe this--four _Mandalorian_ frigates entered the sector five hours ago, and simply dropped off the sensors. Perhaps the peacekeeping force is responding to them."

I spared a glance at the heads-up display and swore. "They're not our problem right now."

"You don't find four Mandalorian frigates a problem?" Juhani asked.

"Not when there are Sith to worry about," I said grimly. "Two snub fighters that look like they wanna dance."


	96. Percussive Maintenance

Percussive Maintenance

Mission

When Carth commed down to her, Mission had already hacked into the sector government's internal communications. "Thank you, Tann," she muttered, sparing a thought for the tormented pink girl. _I hope the Jedi can help you, because the Republic sure let you down_.

If Tann taught her one thing through her situation, it was that the universe wasn't a safe place for a female Twi'lek without a Wookiee to watch her back. Tann's mistake was in thinking she could relax her guard. Growing up on Taris taught her that Firaxa sharks didn't always have fins and swim in the ocean.

A steady stream of information flickered across the screen of her datapad. With each new nugget of information that she mined from hacking the system government's internal files, the less sure she was of being able to look at Borx with a straight face tomorrow and tell him she'd still go with him. Because of his meddling, the rumors had flown all the way to Coruscant and back. Half a dozen separate bounties were being offered for information regarding Darth Revan.

"Hey Blue." A soft, hoarse voice interrupted her study of the datapad and she jumped.

"Noura! You're awake." She put the datapad to the side and unbuckled herself from the jumpseat.

Behind the cargo mesh, Noura struggled to sit up. She put a hand to her forehead. "Arrgh. Did somebody get the number of that bantha?"

"Carth says you're supposed to take it easy. You took a stun bolt to the chest." She helped Noura unhook the cargo mesh. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been licking a bantha's rear end." She held on to the bunk rail when she finally sat all the way up.

"Eww." Mission slid a shoulder under her arm and the older woman leaned her weight on her until her feet touched the floor. _She's not that much taller than me_, Mission realized. _And she definitely doesn't weigh much more, either_.

Not for the first time, it was brought home to her that the woman who both scourged and saved the galaxy was really an itty bitty thing underneath all the robes and the masks and the eight hundred sets of interchangeable and mismatched armor they'd looted in their travels. _It's amazing how much smaller she is when her mouth is shut_.

"Other than that, I feel fine," Noura said. "Except that Bastila hates me and--" she hiccupped. Mission turned in alarm and saw tears suddenly well and run down Noura's cheeks.

"Oh, Noura!" Mission put her arms around the human woman and let her head-tails follow. Noura remained stiff for a second, then with a sighing sob, buried her head in Mission's neck.

Inside, Mission's stomachs quivered in fear, but outwardly, she stroked Noura's back and murmured Twi'leki nonsense words. Zaerdra sometimes did that for her when she was little and Griff hadn't come home for days, offering her a little comfort and temporary security when there wasn't any else to be had.

Now, for the first time since meeting Noura and Carth in the Undercity, she felt that same fear. Had she been leaning on Noura so much since then? The fear turned to shame. So much for being clever and brave. What would have happened to her if Bastila had convinced Noura to turn to darkness?

_Id've been one crispy Twi'lek_, she answered herself. The thought of Noura going to the Dark side, turning into her old self, filled Mission's mind with images too gruesome to think about. Noura was a hero, a role model, a big sister and the cool parts of having a mom. If she'd gone dark...Mission's heart would have cracked in two. Like the last light left in the galaxy flickering out. Mission shuddered. _Her glowstick's going dim. We've left her on too long and her power cell's too low on juice to go for very long. Maybe we oughta start using our own power cells instead of sucking off hers._ Mission sighed inwardly and pushed down the fear for her own future. There was somebody else with a bigger bantha to fry._ I guess this is the part where I really start growing up_.

"Noura?" she said hesitantly.

The human woman pulled away. "Call me Revan," she said. "It's not like it matters anymore." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Mission frowned and glanced at her pack, secured in the equipment cargo net on one wall of the room. _I'm gonna set those robes on fire_, she thought sourly. She thought maybe it was just Dustil's own peculiar brand of pin-headedness that turned him into Darth Sithboy when they were nearby, but now she wondered if they affected all Force-users. "How 'bout I call you Bantha-Licker," she said.

A short bark of laughter erupted from Noura's lips. "That works, I guess." She swiped at her face again and stumbled, losing her balance. Mission hurried to put her steadying arm around the other woman. Thank the stars and planets Carth had gotten the whack-job pilot out of the picture, otherwise they'd both be sprawled on the floor with their knees up each other's noses.

Instead, she backed Noura down onto the jumpseat and pulled out a water canteen from her pack, forcing herself to ignore the cold, numbing feeling she got from touching the edge of Darth Revan's mask, jammed like so much flotsam between datacards, vidcomix, and emergency packets of protein crisps, mostly smashed to dust, but you could still drink the crumbs in a pinch. "Here," she said, and handed Noura the canteen. "You and Bastila never could stand each other. Why're you upset about it now?"

Noura drew her knees up to her chest. "It's not the same," she said dully. Mission's datapad beeped at her, letting her know it found something new. Noura glanced over at the small handheld. "What now?" she asked.

Mission bit her lip and picked up the pad. About ninety-five percent of her said to tell Noura that she'd just finished downloading the latest episode of Vod Krakenslayer. The other five percent of her said that Noura would not only see right through it, but also be really torqued off at her for not being creative enough in her fibbing. She sighed again. "When you were Darth Revan, did you have it in for the Bothans?"

Noura stuck her nose in between her knees, muffling her reply. "It was another life, Mission. I can't remember anything specific." She took a long swig of water from the canteen and made a face. "This stuff's stale. You've gotta get some fresh water in here, Mission."

Unwarranted relief trickled back into Mission's midsection. She was starting to sound like Noura again. "Next time, I'll make sure to put Bantha pee in it for complainers," she retorted.

"Eww," Noura said, and handed her back the canteen. "I'm never asking you for water again." She stretched and sighed. "What did I do to the Bothans?" she said, shaking her head. "I hate not remembering. I can't remember specific events. But I hear of how Darth Revan did this, or Darth Revan did that, and I think, 'yeah, that's exactly how I'd do it.' Does that make me Darth Revan enough to answer for her crimes?"

Mission scratched her scalp, just underneath her headband. "You already know what I think about that. You're _not_ Darth Revan," she said firmly.

"I don't know," Noura said. "Even Carth told me once that he had no problems picturing me dark. And that was before any of us knew who I used to be."

"I guess everybody can be a bad person," she said hesitantly. "Even Carth. I could probably be a real darksider if I tried hard enough. But I figure--if people can be really bad, they can also be really good, y'know?"

Noura picked at a small hole in her Jedi robes. "I--maybe. I guess. So what did I do to the Bothans?"

"I dunno," Mission replied. "But they want you to be taken to Coruscant and tried for war crimes for it. They're yelling real loud on the Senate floor, and saying a mind-wipe wasn't punishment."

"Of course not...how could I remember what a horrible person I was with a mind-wipe?" she said. The hole in her Jedi robes grew wider and Mission resisted the urge to join her in picking at the threads. They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the wobbly thrum of the ship's engines--sheesh, she'd have thought any ship with Carth on it was guaranteed a smooth ride--until finally, Noura let out a huge, gusty sigh. "I oughta be used to this by now. I've had plenty of time to deal with the reactions to me being Darth Revan. But Bastila--"

"How d'you figure she hates you?" Mission asked. She had to raise her voice over the dissonant whine of the ion engines. She thought there might be something wrong with the ship, because nothing short of a rustbucket should run like this. _You'd think an ambassador would have a better ride than a hunkajunk_.

"I was dreaming--well, we were sharing a dream. A vision. I don't know. We were back on the Star Forge and she screamed at me. Said she hated me for not killing her. You know she asked me to kill her? I almost did--I was so angry with her for falling to the dark side after being such a killjoy through the whole mission. I was angry that she feared it enough to let it get to her--I knew she was stronger than that."

Mission frowned. She and Bastila never really got along well. True, she'd gone out of her way to act like a brat and probably deserved that little Force-push Bastila swore she hadn't given her, but that was the kind of thing that good friends got away with on each other, not the kind of thing expected from near-strangers. She ventured an opinion. "The Masters did a real good job of teaching Bastila how to be a Jedi, but they dropped the hoverball when it came to teaching her how to be somebody's friend." In the bathhouse on Yavin 4, Bastila seemed almost desperate to try to help her, for something as dumb as blathering about her first kiss.

"With us it was different. That bond of ours--" Noura stopped, nibbling her lip. "I've never had a sister, and I guess that must be what it's like. I just never expected her to be able to hide it from me. She's harbored that hate for me for weeks. Kept it so secret I didn't even know it was there."

Once again way out of her element, Mission could only hazard a guess. "You don't have to know everything, y'know."

She sighed again and flopped to one side. "I thought I'd be used to everybody hating Darth Revan by now. I've had plenty of time, and a stun bolt to the chest to drive home the point."

The way she said it triggered something that made the tips of Mission's head-tails twinge. She was about to open her mouth and say it when Carth's voice crackled over the comm. " Hey, everybody, we've got company. Make yourselves useful, and if you can't make yourself useful, then make yourself scarce."

Mission jumped up. Psychoanalyzing Noura could wait. Psychoanalyzing those ion engines wouldn't. Noura scrambled up as well. "There's a toolkit in my pack."

The blue girl stopped. She turned and put a hand square on Noura's chest and pushed the older human back down onto the bunk. "You're not to leave this room. Captain Carth's orders are for you to take it easy. I'll go mess around with the engines."

"That's ridiculous. I'm fine," Noura snapped. Just then, the ship rolled and the gravity gambols didn't catch up in time. Mission's reflexes kept her on her feet, but Noura, already sitting, lurched to one side and fell completely over onto the floor.

"You keep holding that floor down," Mission said. "I'll get the engines. Besides that, you're exhausted, and exhausted people stink in combat."

"I have to do something," she pleaded. For the first time, Mission wondered if maybe everybody depended so much on Noura because she pushed them to depend on her. She wondered if anybody had ever pushed Noura into letting somebody else lead the party for once. Even when she was Revan, Mission would bet that somebody was always counting on her to get things done.

_I must have head-tails the size of a Hutt's rear end_, she thought, _to be ordering Darth Revan around like this_. "Do something like Force-heal yourself, then."

"I'll help you fix the engines," she said, struggling up from the bunk. Mission's head-tails snapped in a Lekku curse. Noura held out her hands. "I promise, I won't do anything more strenuous than hand you tools."

"Oh, what_ever_," she said crossly. As Noura followed her down the access hatch, she wished Zaalbar were here. More than anything, she knew her big, furry friend would have the kind of calm wisdom she couldn't ever quite get down. He might be able to tell her why she still felt stuck between Borx's horns, even after her friends' lives already seemed ruined through his meddling.

When they reached the ion drive housing, she started to work. Noura seemed to shake off her melancholia enough to hand her the right size hydrospanner when she asked for it.

"So," Noura said as casually as possible over the discordant engine whine. "Whose idea was it to bring Darth Revan back from the dead?"

"Clever, wasn't it?" Mission said. "Lots of people got to see you and Darth Revan in the same place together. After all, you can't be Darth Revan when you're standing next to her. Or him, rather." The ship shuddered and the toolkit slid across the deck plating. She stuck out her foot and kept it from spilling everywhere just barely.

"And I guess it was just a side effect that most of the people there--including me--were petrified to the point of hysteria!" Noura's face clouded up and Mission saw that she was angry. Really angry.

"I--hey!" Mission said, getting kind of mad, herself. "You're the one who's been saying, 'I'm not Darth Revan anymore,' since we first found out about your old life. We were just trying to prove it to everybody else!" She heard a distant booming and the lights flickered. Her head-tails curled up around her shoulders as the sub harmonics of the shield fluctuated. _We're getting hammered_, she thought. _I thought Carth could fly better than this_.

The engine housing looked like it hadn't been touched since the shipyard put it together, and when Mission pulled the fasteners out, fine white powder rubbed off on her fingers. "Eww."

The housing didn't budge like it was supposed to. She pushed at it and the metal groaned in protest. "Here, let me." Noura pushed her aside and threw her hip against it. "Ow," she muttered, rubbing her hip. "I bet neither one of you considered that when you scare people like that, they get violent. You could have been seriously hurt back there. What if they rioted, huh?"

Mission glared at her. She took the toolcase in both hands and swung it. The durasteel housing gonged, sending up more white powder, but it moved askew. "They were already rioting, Noura. They were rioting on _you_. Dustil and I distracted them!"__

Together, they lifted off the powerbox cowling. Mission peered down into the engine pit. "That ain't right," she said. The fine white dust resolved itself into silicate cobwebs, thick over the engine hood. "Ugh. Silica-ticks. No wonder the drive's shot. They're nesting."

"You turned their attention on you, Mission," Noura said. "We had the situation under control--"

"That's where you're wrong," Mission said, a funny feeling churning the pits of her stomachs that she couldn't call anger. "Why can't you ever just let someone else help you?"

Noura pulled a work glove from the toolkit and began scooping up the silica-tick nests from the engine cowling. "Let you help? I don't have a problem with people helping me. People I care about doing crazy things that could get them killed is what I can't stand!"

"What about you, huh?" Mission grabbed a socket wrench and took her sudden anger out on the engine hood, knocking great clumps of silica dust out of the crevices. "Did you think past the end of your own nose when you went running back to Rakata?" It seemed like a year ago since Carth first discovered Noura had stolen a shuttle from the _Stella Arcos_. "Did that not count as loose-gears-in-the-cranium crazy dangerous?" Her voice shook when she remembered the fear that gripped her at Carth's announcement. The bleak look in her pilot friend's eyes. How she felt exactly like Canderous that minute--helpless, because you couldn't shoot at or slice access to whatever lived in somebody else's mind. "Was that swan dive you took off the nacelle of that wreck in the ocean your idea of R and R?"

Her head-tails quivered themselves almost in a knot just like the ones in her stomachs. _I didn't even realize I was mad at her for that. How can I be mad at her when she's done so much--saved my life so many times...saved the entire _galaxy_?_

Noura stayed quiet for a long time. Around them, the ship twitched and bounced. Noura just kept scooping up handfuls of the silica web and flicking them to the floor. When she finally looked up, there were tears in her eyes. "Remember what happened to the last person who took on a Sith Lord to 'help' me? She got tortured, fell to the dark side and now she hates me!"

Noura wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "Ow. Dammit." Beads of blood welled up from numerous tiny scratches across her cheek and nose.

Mission peeled off her own glove and flicked it to the floor. "Wait. Here. Hold on." She pulled a field kit out of her pack and tore open a kolto wipe. "You can't keep rubbing it--it just grinds the silica dust deeper into your skin. You have to pat."

Noura brought her hand halfway to her face again and Mission made a tsch sound. The human woman froze and Mission patted the wipe with her own fingers. Stars only knew Noura always went on about being a screw-up--in fact, that was the banner they'd flown under ever since leaving Taris, but this was worse...this was really _knowing_. Noura underneath the glamour was just a human woman. With huge issues about letting other people solve her problems. She made a decision then and there to never, ever tell Noura about her deal with Borx. _I can help her because of that, maybe more than she knows_. The secret gave her a little sense of...power. Like she was that much less helpless against whatever the galaxy threw at her.

"Mission, how about those engines?" Carth's voice came over the comm.

She glanced at Noura's tear-stained and scratched face. _There are things that need more fixing than the engines on this rustbucket_, she thought. Out loud, she said, "I'm working as fast as I can here, geezer!" To Noura, she said, "Don't move, don't help, don't hand me anything. Just--just sit there for five minutes. You won't grow mold or anything." She dived back into the engine pit and found what she was looking for. A long, tightly coiled, ropy cable choked and corroded a conduit sleeve. She set to work hammering at the hardened, crystalline egg sac, chipping it away from the sleeve, and tried not to breathe the dust.

She talked as she worked. "You're used to--being hated--for being Darth Revan," Mission said, punctuating her words with raps to the powerbox cowling. "Bastila--hates you--because of something you did--as Noura Den Hades."


	97. Company

Company

Carth

Juhani was already dropping down through the hatch onto the main deck below. "I saw gun turrets," she called up. "I shall man one."

Gerda cussed in lisping Basic. "We are in no condition for a battle," he hissed.

"Well, we're getting one," I said. "Ambassador, strap in here or man a gun." I flicked on the ship's broadcast comm. "Hey, everybody, we've got company. Make yourselves useful, and if you can't make yourself useful, then make yourself scarce."

The ambassador seated herself at the third chair of the cockpit, at the nav station. "There are twin concussion missile launchers mounted to either side of the bridge. It'll be just like hunting Purella spiders. Aim for the dangerous part first."

I put all I had into getting the engines to compensate, and the ship lurched forward. The ion whine grew louder to my ears, but no one else seemed to care about that teeth-gritting noise.

On closer inspection, I counted half a dozen small, mismatched craft. Not Sith, then. Somebody else.

"We're getting a comm," Varenna said next to me. She flipped the broadcast switch. Gritty Huttese erupted over the speakers.

"Yavin System ship. Prepare for docking along a heading provided by our escort."

Varenna flipped the comm to respond. "Unidentified transport, this is the _Mirialis_. We are on an official diplomatic mission, and our course has already been plotted."

The voice switched to a smooth Basic. "_Mirialis_, this is the Black Hand. We're prepared to make a deal."

"Go ahead, Black Hand," Varenna's voice held a cool tinge of interested amusement. Funny sense of humor the Force had, giving us a politician to cut deals with.

"How about ten percent of the bounty," came the answering comm.

I spared a glance towards the teenage diplomat manning the Nav station. She winked at me. "The bounty upon whose head?"

"_Mirialis_, don't play stupid. We know you've got Darth Revan. You saved us the trouble of getting her off-planet. Take the ten percent, dock with our transport, and let's keep the casualties to a minimum."

"Who's offering the bounty?" I wanted to know.

"Who'd be giving us the credstick?" she asked.

A crackle of static returned. "That's a negative. The Black Hand maintains client confidentiality. Part of our business standard."

"Sure it is," I muttered. "Get rid of these jokers."

"Black Hand, thanks but no thanks. We have our own plans for Darth Revan."

"Mirialis, we've got no problem using force to get what we want. Let's be reasonable. All we want is our bounty."

"Well, you can't have her," I muttered. "Ambassador, who or what the hell is the Black Hand?"

"I've no idea," the Melodie said. "But they may be in league with the Sith." Her hand appeared in front of my face, directing me to the heads-up.

I recognized the forked outlines and energy signatures of a pair of Star Forge-designed Sith snub-fighters. "Terrific," I muttered, wishing I could politely elbow Gerda the Dug out of the pilot's chair and do what I did best.

"Mirialis, prepare to dock, or be blown out of the sky." Our adversary lost his pleasant and businesslike veneer.

"Dock this," I said, and vented an exhaust port in their general direction. "It's a pleasure _not_ doing business with you."

The two Sith snub-fighters crossed in our flight path, sending lines of crimson energy dancing across our nose.

One connected, spitting a gout of flame that burnt out half the power of our fore shield. I felt the distant rumble of belly guns under my feet and answering blasts from our own weapons appeared on the viewscreen.

"I don't think they liked that answer," Varenna said.

I stared out at the starfield, willing Gerda to roll now and avoid the fire from a light freighter about our size coming in from above and portside. The ship rolled, half a second too slowly and a red flash on my panel indicated we'd lost our midship belly shield generator. "Mission!" I yelled into the comm. "Get down there and fix that shield generator! And while you're at it, kick that ion drive!"

"Already on it," her voice came back to me laden with static. I didn't really hear it, though, as I'd been looking out into the crimson-splashed black starfield when suddenly, from below, the starfield was obliterated by a ship twice our size, coming straight up from under us.

"Where the hell did he come from? Dive, Gerda, dive!" I said, but the Dug's reflexes, faster than human ones, pulled us up. Exposing our naked underbelly to the ship's top-mounted quad cannons. "SonofaSith! Didn't you think?" I yelled to him.

Gerda swung his long-snouted head towards me. "I am not a space combat pilot, human!"

_No shit_, I thought. "I am." I jumped out of my chair. "Move."

Dug are not known for their team player attitudes and easygoing tempers, and Gerda was no different. He snarled at me as he rolled out of his seat.

"I'll buy you a drink and soothe your ego later," I said, and flung myself into the pilot's chair. The seat back tilted too far back and I felt like I was flying lying down, but my hands slid into the controls with a familiar mental click.

The YV-666 wasn't nearly as responsive as the Ebon Hawk, but it wasn't as clunky as the average tramp freighter, either. I rolled on our Z axis, turning our back to our friend, and dove out on an oblique vector, coming damn close to winging one of the medium freighters angling in for a kill. "Ambassador, how many concussion charges do you have?"

"Umm...six?"

"Six? Only six? Where are the other eighteen? Don't tell me this ship's seen that much action!"

"I--we...we offloaded them while we were remodeling."

"Of course you did!" I pounded the console and cursed my luck. Politicians! "Fire them at that big SOB on my mark." I dove into a corkscrew that had us all closing our eyes against the vertigo and waited until I felt the sweet spot in my gut. "Now!"

A heavy foop-foop and the charges filled our viewscreen. They danced along the big freighter's shields but did what I'd wanted them to do--shorted out the sensor dishes. When the glare polarized, I saw a minor annoyance turn into a major problem. The two snub fighters were gunning right for us, coming up from below, and our second belly shield went down with a whimper. One of them paid for their trouble, eating a mouthful of our laserfire and choking on it.

But the thing about snub fighters is that they're deadly in tight situations, and the one behind the fireball dove into a tight loop that would bring its nose right up on our exposed weakness. "Mission, how about those shields?"

"I'm working as fast as I can, geezer!"

"Well work faster...we're gonna get--"

I watched in shock as the snub fighter suddenly exploded. The big freighter and its two escorts turned and fled. "I know they aren't running from us," I said. All the same, I don't look a gift bantha in the maw. I turned us on a vector taking us far away from them.

That proved to be an educational experience. The proximity sensor squealed just in time for the HUD to show the pointed nose of a Corellian Corvette bearing down on us.

"Exar Kun's ponytail!" Ambassador Aktil squeaked. "Where did they come from?"

"And where did they get that paint job?" I wondered out loud. Most starships are painted gunmetal gray--the primer is the important part of the painting process, carrying the protections for the hull materials in it, and anybody who commissions a ship that size isn't spending the creds for looks. But somebody had a lot of money, a lot of time, and a lot of red fraggin' paint, because the entire corvette was covered stem to stern in bloody glory. "Ambassador, scan all public comm channels. I want to know who they are."

In the meantime, I rolled the ship away from the scarlet behemoth and kept a heading away from the gas giant. The little freighter wasn't made for playing around in that kind of gravity for extended periods.

"They're identifying as the Scarlet Legion, formerly of Bensariax Five."

"Formerly," I repeated. Made perfect sense. Once upon a time, Bensariax Five was the last chance to stop along a particularly desolate stretch of the Hydian Way. Their refusal to knuckle under to Sith control earned them a treatment similar to Taris and my homeworld.

"The good news is they've chased off the Black Hand," Varenna said. She keyed the heads-up display and I saw the three red dots of our enemies join up with another red dot close on the far side of Yavin 13. "The bad news is that Black Hand wanted her alive. Scarlet doesn't particularly care."

I listened to the comm chatter while I banked and rolled us. Scarlet Legion broadcast an all-ships claim to Darth Revan, dead or alive, for crimes against the people of Bensariax Five. In response to challenges from ships identifying as mercenary companies, bounty hunters, and planetary security forces from as far away as Bakura and Geonosis, Scarlet Legion claimed it had tried and convicted Revan in absentia, and had every right according to galactic law to carry out her sentencing. Anyone interfering would be charged with obstruction of justice and sentenced to Bensarian prison mines in the system's asteroid ring. "Shut it off," I snapped. "I've heard enough."

Varenna flipped the switch, but her muttered, "Uh-oh," had me checking out the HUD again. She stabbed the newest dot in range and the focus narrowed in to show the ship's profile. Bullet-shaped and big. Really big.

"That's an assault cruiser," I said, my gut sinking even lower. "Its primary purpose is to transport ground troops. That thing could be carrying anywhere from forty to four hundred troops. Or worse...it could be no longer carrying them. Mission," I said into the comm. "Raise the Ebon Hawk. Talk to T3 if you have to. Tell Canderous to get ready for company!"


	98. Basic Needs

Basic Needs

Bastila

In spite of spending the night on the hard ground, I felt refreshed, and woke as the first rays of dawn began to warm the mesa to find Canderous already up and about.

My dream still haunted me. I could accept that my feelings about Revan were complex and difficult, but my feelings about being a Jedi went even deeper. I'd made vows to the Order and yet somehow, in spite of myself and all the teachings that had been ingrained in me since childhood, I developed connections outside of it. Connections that ran deeper than I could even fathom.

I was in the middle of folding the blanket to return it to the backpack, when Canderous put his hand on my shoulder. He turned me around and put his hands in my hair. The pale dawn light turned his eyes to the gleaming hue of a vibroblade. I stopped thinking about his eyes when he bent his head down to kiss me.

"Whatever happens," he murmured, his words rumbling in his throat, "I don't doubt your strength to endure it."

I laid my hand on his rough cheek. "You never cease to puzzle me," I said softly. We stood like that until the winds began to rise and the pink dawn turned to golden daybreak.

We picked our way down through the caves in silence, stopping at the stream to water. I splashed my face and scrubbed at my eyes. I felt raw around the edges, like my soul had been operated on without benefit of anesthetic. I peered down into the shadows of the water and saw fish in the bottom of a water-filled crevasse.

I reached out with the Force, and reached in with my hand. My fingers tickled the fish's silvery underbelly until it lay quietly in my hand. Quickly, I brought my hand up and set the fish down on dry rock. "Kippers for breakfast, then?" I said.

Canderous picked up the fish and tossed it back into the stream. "No," he said, "though that was a neat trick. You'll have to teach it to me someday."

I frowned at him. "You threw back our breakfast," I said crossly.

He sighed. "It's tradition," he said, not looking at me. "Nothing passes your lips that hasn't been hunted by me." He brought out a knife, crouched down by the water, and waited. I saw a dull flash of silver and he stabbed downward. "Damn," he muttered. Five tries later and he finally had a catch, smaller than my original selection, impaled on the tip of the blade.

I ground my back teeth together. "We've been eating leftover Corellian and Borba melons for three days. Did the pleeka noodles put up much of a fight?"

He sent me a dark look, made all the more menacing from the green light of the glowstick, and began to gut the fish. "I had to hunt down a lot of credits to get Mission to steal them from the governor's kitchens for me," he said.

I didn't know what to say to that. He always seemed to knock me off-guard with that...roguish side of him.

To cover my lack of a comeback, I knelt down beside him and held out my hand. "If you will?"

He cocked his head to one side, but handed me the knife and pulled out a blaster from the pack. As I skinned and filleted, I tried not to think of the last time I'd done this, under Master Zhar's tutelage on Dantooine.

"Never forget the simple things, young apprentice," the green Twi'lek said to me. "For it is in the simple things that most beings find the common threads that run through them. The simple things are closest to the ties of the Force." He then reached into the river flowing through the gold and lavender grasses of the plains and brought up a wiggling fish that flashed russet in the dappled sunlight. "Everyone needs to eat," he said. "And everyone fears hunger. It is from this, and other basic needs and fears, that all other conflicts stem. Discover the needs, and the corresponding fears, and the Force will lead you to a solution."

That day, the Force led me to learn how to catch and cook fresh fish. Another day taught me how to weave grasses into mats to make shelter, and still another taught me how to dowse for water hidden in the ground. Many, many days later, I was finally permitted to use the technology that had existed for millennia to make meeting these basic needs easier. But the lesson stayed. Until I lost my way and let the fear rule the need.

Canderous fired the blaster at a flat rock until it glowed. I put the filleted fish on the rock and watched the flesh sizzle, then used another flat shard of stone to flip it to the other side. That same shard served as flatware when the fillet was cooked.

Canderous kicked the hot rock into the stream. It disappeared with a hiss. He dipped his hands into the water that bubbled in the rock's wake. I followed suit and was pleasantly surprised at his efficient way of creating heated wash-water. We sat next to each other on the stream bank and ate quickly. It wasn't quite the Coruscanti spread, but I consumed a surprising lot of it.

I licked my fingers at the last of it. "Thank you," I said abruptly, and not just over the meal. My insides felt as gutted as the poor fish's, but I knew when we left the cave, our interlude on the mesa would be truly over, and with it, the peace I found would be gone.

He simply nodded. I leaned over the stream again, rinsing my hands and taking another turn at splashing my face. I considered shedding my clothing and going for a complete bath, but as I knelt at the stream, I detected a distant rumbling. Beside me, Canderous tensed.

"Rain?" I asked.

He shook his head. "The clouds were far to the west," he said, his voice barely a murmur. "We have several hours yet." I noted the blaster that reappeared in his hand.

We moved cautiously away from the stream and up to the cave entrance where we'd left the speeder yesterday. I took my lightsaber in one hand, and flattened myself against the wall at the mouth of the cave. Canderous dropped into a crouch opposite me. I closed my eyes and sent out an inquisition into the Force.

Tiny lives, and the heartbeat of the planet echoed back to me. I relaxed slightly, remembering the Ikusai wolves and their lack of a Force signature. I opened my eyes. "Nothing in the immediate area," I said, shaking my head.

Just then, I heard another slow, subaural hum that gradually increased in pitch.

"There," Canderous said, pointing behind me. I turned to see an object moving in the sky near the horizon. "Revan comes." His tone held a fatalistic note, or perhaps it was my own imagination that bespoke doom.

"She's not on that ship. But she won't be far behind," I said, feeling oddly sad that the sojourn was over. The real world was about to intrude again, and I still had no idea about what face the Bastila Shan re-entering it would be wearing when she did so. I turned towards the speeder and jerked my head up as a flash caught my eye. Another ship seemed to be angling for our general direction. "Canderous," I said. "I don't remember reading that Mandalorian Bridal Raids are spectator events." I pointed to the ship in the sky. Even at this distance, it did not move like a shuttle or small transport.

"They're not," he said tightly. He pulled the scrub off the speeder and reached for the vehicle's commlink. "T3," he said. "We've got company. I want to know who it is and what the hell they're doing here. In the meantime, seal the Ebon Hawk's hatch and prime the turret guns."

I wasted no time in loading the back of the speeder with our equipment. By the time our repulsor-lifts bumped over the uneven ground, I counted four large transport cruisers, a personal cruiser, and several small and light personal shuttles. "I don't believe Alderaan's last planetary opera had this many guests lined up to attend," I said. "T3, can you identify the large transports?"

T3 beeped a discordant negative, and I glanced at Canderous.

His jaw was set and tense. "This isn't going as planned," he muttered. "Did you manage to slice an outgoing message to someone?"

I shook my head. "That little tin traitor shocked me when I tried to override his security protocols on board the Ebon Hawk."

Canderous grinned, but his amusement was short-lived. A pair of fast and light atmospheric shuttles flew in over our heads, on a direct heading for the lodge. He uttered an expletive.

T3 whistled and I discovered we'd received a priority comm from Carth while we were out on the mesa. "Send it through, T3," Canderous said.

On the heads-up console mounted between us, Carth's form, hazy and blue, flickered to life.

"Hope you kids had fun, because the holiday's over," Carth said. "I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that we're not as popular as we were a few days ago. The media's crawling all over the place like field lice on a kath hound, and Revan and Bastila have dropped off the Jedi Dream Girls list."

"There's a list?" I said inanely. Men are all pigs.

"Shh." Canderous waved his hand.

Carth's wobbly miniature visage grimaced. "We were sloppy, Canderous, and I'm sorry for that. To make a long story short, the whole sector--and then some--have all developed a keen interest in the Northern continent of Yavin 13. And if that isn't enough--" Here, the holo-Carth looked down, then up again, and even the holoimage showed the lines of worry etched on his face. "Ah, hells bells. You're going to have some company. We're getting there early tomorrow, so be ready for us early. Some things just have to be said in person. Onasi out." The image flickered and died.

Canderous swore, a short string of words that made my ears burn and made me wonder whether it was truly battle prowess that determined who held the title of Mandalore. "If I had clansmen, they would have ensured our privacy," he finally said.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that we could turn back to the mesa, hide out in the caves and live primitively until everyone went away, but there are no such escapes for the likes of us. Canderous' honor wouldn't permit it and I knew it was better to face the inevitable head-on rather than to have it run you down from behind. A little wisdom courtesy of my experience with Noura.

Master Zhar's lesson had been about the simple things. I could think of several reasons why our popularity with the general public had waned, and all of them had to do with basic needs. Ranking only slightly below those of food, shelter, and protection is the basic need for vengeance.


	99. Descent

Descent

Canderous

I'd never have survived as long as I have if I'd been a heavy sleeper. I was pleased when her body relaxed in my arms after her nightmare. But for me, sleep would not return. Not even the catnap doze that all warriors eventually perfect over long periods in hostile territory. I held her and pondered many things, my coming battle with Revan uppermost in my mind.

I had no wish to challenge her. She was a fine clan leader, a powerful warrior...and a steadfast friend. She'd defeated the best of us in her day, my own clan leaders and Mandalore himself. Our time together searching for the Star Forge showed me as well that she did not lose a fight well. I didn't expect her to want to lose this one, either. But I had one significant advantage over her. She wanted to avoid losing. I wanted to win. We nearly defeated the Republic because they didn't want it bad enough until the Jedi came along.

But my worries about Revan evaporated when the shuttles flew over our heads. There was no more room for old worries when the new worry was as big as the next message that T3 relayed to us. Mission's voice, coming from somewhere where the hiss of escaping pressure threatened to drown out her words. "--derous. Oh, where the hell are you...route to...-teen and we ran into a small fleet of...and freighters, but that's not the worst part...ship coming away from...and Carth says that if they've already...their cargo then you're in trouble...anywhere from forty to...-hundred troops. And that's not even talking about the Mandalorians."

"Mandalorians? Again?" Bastila said in disbelief. I just shook my head and accelerated the speeder. Have all my people abandoned our ways? If honor and culture were so easily forgotten, we really are extinct. The air rushing over the windscreen had a faint taste of humidity amidst the overwhelming dust. Rain was still many hours off, but was present.

Mission's voice kept going. "And there...riot...Yavin four...Oh and Cand...ous, Noura says...better...ready to live...celibate life, because she's...-na beat the...out of you later. So wherever...get the hell out of there!"

"Language, Mission, language." Bastila looked up at me, her eyes narrowed. "This isn't something Mandalorian, is it?"

"No," I said tightly. "Bridal raids are never causes for open war. Even in our glory days, whatever we conquered for our mates was presented ex post facto. This is Revan's fault."

"How can you be sure?" Her tone was sharp. "We know nothing of the reason troops are being landed on the planet. They could be Sith."

"Sith, Republic, Mercenary," I said. "Chances are, they're here because they know she'll be here. They're here for revenge on her."

"She's not the only one," Bastila said in a small voice I barely heard over the wind rushing over the front screen of the speeder. "I committed atrocities as well in my time as a Sith apprentice. They have every reason to come after me."

"This puts a kink in things," I muttered, gunning the speeder. The lodge appeared on the horizon. Republic sensibilities, I thought savagely. Yap about justice and peace until no one's watching, then seek out vengeance in honorless combat. Never mind that I'd settled my share of vendettas--a few of my own, but most of them other people's, and I did it for nothing more than money. We all have our share of shameful pasts.

"It would have been so much easier had you done things the normal way," she said. She folded her lips into a thin line. "Do you know how marriages are contracted on my homeworld of Talravin?" she asked, tiredness evident in her voice.

"It probably involves something impractical," I said, swerving the speeder to avoid a rockfall. Republic worlds--and so many of the cits inhabiting them--had no shortage of customs I found ridiculous.

She bristled, but my comment didn't stop her from explaining. "On Talravin, when a couple agrees to marry--and do note that I mean _both_ partners come to an _agreement_--they buy each other jewelry."

"Jewelry? What for?" The heads-up display beeped and I glanced at it to see the sensors had picked up a large mass on a collision vector with us.

"The original settlers from Alderaan did it," she said. "The partners register a contract with the planetary government. There is a reception, with food and wine."

I winced, thinking of the stilted and lifeless affairs we were forced to attend right after the Star Forge, and the irritating thing at the Yavin 4 governor's estate. "The only--" I started.

"It's tradition," she said with a little sigh.

I was about to tell her the only way I would attend another gathering like that would be at blaster-point, but who was I to mock her traditions? Especially as mine seemed to bring complications baffling in their immensity. "My people have feasting and drink as well, once the bride-price has been decided. There are unarmed wrestling matches. The clans celebrate their alliance, and the couple celebrates theirs. We are not so different."

We could now hear the roar of ion engines and in the rear display, the shadow of a vast ship appeared behind us, its blocky shape easily confused with one of the mesas, come to life.

Her tone was bitter and flat as she stared at some fixed point in the distance, and her words brought cold into my heart. "Save that the Jedi do not have marriage traditions."


	100. Anger Management

Anger Management

Dustil

Dustil wasted no time on pleasantries. As soon as he and Galran--or Jev--or whoever he wanted to call himself--were alone, he grabbed the Twi'lek by the collar and shoved him up against a bulkhead.

Jev stared at him with flat eyes and a smirk. "Ease up, pretty boy. The ride's rough enough without you adding to it."

"What do you want with her," Dustil demanded.

"Who?" Jev asked, raising one hairless eyebrow. His head-tails carefully wiggled out from behind his shoulders and snaked around his neck.

"Don't play games with me."

"Tsk tsk. Anger leads to the dark side, young apprentice," Jev said, the smirk never leaving his face.

"Anger's gonna lead me to tie your head-tails in a knot." Dustil's entire head felt hot, as if he'd stuck it in boiling water and waited for it to plump up. Without the Master around to temper him, all his fears, all the little annoyances and injustices surrounding him, ate their way into his brain like bloodworms.

It started with his master and spread outward with every passing minute. The entire universe seemed to be betraying him. And it was all too easy for him to slip back into the anger that fueled him at the Academy. He let that anger ride him now.

"Let's not bring violence into it," Jev said smoothly. "I like my head-tails the way they are, thanks."

"And I like Mission the way she is," he said. "She doesn't need you slithering around her."

"Me? Slither?" Jev laughed. "You make it sound like I'm the Hutt here. Go harass that Devaronian hack and spend your energies on something useful."

"I've got enough energy to go around," Dustil snapped. "And he's not here. You are. I think we both remember how that worked at the Academy. Now quit trying to change the subject. What do you want with her?"

Jev had finally, apparently had enough with being shoved against the wall. He broke Dustil's grip and shoved the younger man away. "Back off, plebe." The lazy indolence in his voice evaporated like a holotransmission in an ion storm. The green Twi'lek's face mottled olive with anger and his head-tails snapped impatiently around his shoulders. "You don't have the 'tails to be asking that question of me, and you sure as hell don't have that clearance."

"Clearance--this is about bringing her on?" Dustil backed another step away and backed up against a stuffed womp rat.

Jev's eyes slid away from his. "We have a vacancy, it seems," he said pointedly.

"But she doesn't--she's not--she's--" He frowned and the anger drained out of his hyperdrive. "Why?"

"What? Not an ex-Sith like us?" Again, the hairless eyebrow went up. "Just a kid? Who infiltrated the Sith academy on Korriban right under the noses of Uthar Wynn and Yuthura Ban? Who went on to survive a guest stay on the Leviathan and hold her own against the combined might of Darth Malak's Star Forge forces? You're damn right we want her." Jev straightened his jacket.

Dustil's stomach turned. Mission was too innocent. Too young. Never mind that he wasn't all that old himself, or that Mission had twice the street-smarts that he did, or that he'd had a childhood that allowed him the luxury to resent an absentee father, while she scrounged in the streets for the luxury of two meals a day.

But for her to take the risks as he had...to come that close to the Sith--to put her life on the line knowing that the Republic could and would cut her loose at any moment. "She's not cut out for this life. She deserves to be left alone. Left in peace. She doesn't need to--" he looked away, around at the glassy-eyed stares of the stuffed and mounted animals littering the room, feeling the same trapped sense.

"It's too late," Jev said quietly, not without sympathy, the bastard. "She had a choice, and she made it."

"You tricked her into it," he said, wishing he had the claws and teeth of the womp rat, to tear into the Twi'lek and make him take back his words.

Jev's eyes narrowed. "I didn't need to," he said. "The galaxy did that all by itself."

Dustil stepped away from Jev and tried to find a refrigeration unit. "What's going to happen to her?"

"That's classified."

He found a fridge unit, but all it had were kelp protein drinks in black and gold cans. He wrinkled his nose and pulled two out. Over the sour, thick taste of the drink, he met Jev's eyes steadily. "If I ever find out anything happened to her," he said. "I'm coming after you."

"Vengeance is a tool of the Dark side," Jev retorted.

Dustil snorted. _My master's not around, so what the hell_, he thought. "I'm not all that married to the Jedi way, Jev. Old habits die hard."

_And young Jedi die all too easily._ After the hours and hours of silence, his master's voice boomed in his head, scaring the living daylights out of him. Without warning, his knees gave way and he dropped to the deck plating.

Jev was on him in a heartbeat. "Dustil!"

The ship pitched forward, sending stuffed animal carcasses tumbling around them. "Get--" he said. He almost told the Twi'lek to get his dad, but he--he needed a Jedi now. "Get Juhani."

His father's voice came over the comm, announcing the presence of incoming fighters. Jev ducked out of the galley and an instant later, returned with Juhani. Dustil could do nothing but lie on the floor, gasping for breath while his heart raced at twice its normal speed.

The Cathar crouched down next to him. "Mr. Secura," she said crisply, "man a belly gun. I was going to do so, but I am needed here. The need for a gunner, however, is greater than that for a spectator."

Jev snorted wryly. "Yes ma'am," he said. "I'll just go shoot things, now, won't I?"

Juhani's yellow eyes flicked over him. "Do that," she said evenly. To Dustil, she said, "Your Force-presence is confused and weak."

Dustil tried to sit up. The Cathar put one sleek, clawed hand over his chest and pushed him back down. "So is your strength. What happened?"

"My master has decided he hasn't left the building after all," Dustil said.

"Hm." Her cat-eyes gleamed, as intense and feral as the eyes of the creatures surrounding them, but much more alive. "Your heart rate is far out of normal range. Your pulse is accelerated, your breathing is shallow, you are perspiring, and you stink of stagnant water."

Dustil looked down at the half-empty can in his hand. "Kelp protein." He grimaced. "No wonder this stuff is only drunk by people in life-or-death situations. You have to be on the brink of death to avoid upchucking it."

Juhani's lips turned upwards briefly. "You also stink of fear and rage," she said.

The Master spoke out of his mouth. "The young are full of swagger and bravado. This one would do a Cathar proud, I think."

_Damn_, Dustil thought. _I was just getting used to having my own mouth back_.

He felt as weak as a baby, and bantha-puke tired. "I don't understand," he said. "None of the other times the Master was around tripped me out like this."

"I will consult with Belaya as soon as I am able," Juhani said. "May I offer you some strength?" She extended her hand.

"It won't be necessary," the Master said. "The consulting with Belaya. I believe I am aware of the source of the problem."

_Do share with the rest of the class_, Dustil thought dourly.

"That which allows me to accompany my apprentice also wears upon him. While I was absent, his body attempted to return to his normal metabolic state. When I returned, his state deteriorated once again."

"What does that mean?" Juhani asked.

An odd, dizzying sensation swept over him. He remembered Xartha Tek, just after she strapped him to the slab, when she painted the Sith glyphs over his chest. The curious awareness, the sensation of being...opened. Like somebody lifted his ribcage up and away while his heart still beat. The Master's knowledge came to him a millisecond before his mouth opened, and he wasn't sure if it was he, or his master who actually said the words. "It means that the Sith concoction slowly poisoning my body is the same thing that allows the Master to share it with me."


	101. Invasion

Invasion

Canderous

"T3," I said. "Seal the Hawk. Repel anybody but us." The droid returned a discordant blarp. "Of course, the rest of the crew don't count. Use that microprocessor a little. And I want a constant stream of data regarding ships entering orbit or landing anywhere within five hundred kilometers of either us or the Hawk."

T3 emitted a stream of excited chatter as the morning sun vanished into shadow. I sighed. Bastila clutched my arm. "Yes, I'm aware of the one about to land on my head, you stupid tinbucket!"

She used me for balance as she folded her legs under her on the speeder seat. In harmony with the wind, I heard the hiss of her lightsaber.

The big shadow on the sensors soon turned out to be an even bigger shadow over our heads. The lodge grew closer, the Ebon Hawk a gray blob next to it in the wavering heat-haze. I spared a glance for the ship above us, nearly matching our speed, and almost wrecked the speeder. I jerked the throttle so violently that we banked into a flat spin. Bastila's lightsaber wavered dangerously as the ship passed over our heads, but her aim was true. The light weapon spun out of her hand, its blue glow cutting a corkscrew pattern in the air as it flew upward and sliced through the barrel of a small blaster cannon mounted to the bottom of one stubby wing.

The force of its return knocked her into my lap, which was fortunate, because the barrel landed in the seat where she'd been sitting a few seconds ago. Her weight leaned on the throttle and we shot forward out of the spin and on a careening course pretty much where we were headed in the first place. The transport ship filled a third of the sky and attempted to match our speed and course as much as possible, but it didn't fire back.

I was still trying to place the ship's silhouette, but I could spare enough attention to press my lips to her startled ones. "Trust a Jedi to attack a troop transport and expect to win." And she wondered why I loved her.

The transport faltered. She raised an eyebrow at me. "You were saying?" She shifted into a better position on my lap. _I could turn the speeder around_, I thought, _lose the transport in the mesas, find another cave and--_

The speeder's sensor cheeped again. I looked down to see the graphic of three atmospheric troop carriers skimming across the terrain on a vector oblique to us that would bring them to the lodge and the Ebon Hawk. So much for that plan.

I took one hand off the throttle to pick up the hacked-off end of gun barrel and tossed it out the back of the speeder. Bastila pulled a pair of electrobinoculars out of the cargo compartment behind us and raised them to her face. Her elbows blocked my forward vision so I moved my attention to the console display. "Damn," I muttered, at the same time her body tensed. The display showed several large blips that I found hard to believe were any sort of welcoming committee.

"Get to that rock formation," she said. I nudged the steering lever to the right. The console showed the three troop carriers hovering between us and the lodge. We vectored towards the large cluster of rocks where the wolves had cornered her yesterday. "We can hide and use the terrain against their numbers."

The blocky ship swerved again, changing direction with us. "They're tracking us," I muttered. "Why?"

"I'm in no condition to meet company," she said. "I haven't got a dress to wear."

I shot a glance at her. Her face was a carefully bland mask, except for the twitching corners of her mouth. "I guess we'll have to shoot 'em, then."

T3 warbled over the comm. Almost in sync with the droid's electronic tones came Bastila's gasp of dismay. "I estimate two hundred. At least."

"T3 says two-forty that he's counted," I replied. To our west, the troop transport landed. "Plus, whoever's in that carrier over there."

I pulled the speeder to a stop beneath a shallow overhang and Bastila scrambled off my lap. I stuck the earpiece of the speeder's comm system in one ear. T3 kept up a running commentary while I dumped the silly picnic items--food containers, blanket, canteen--out of my pack and found a string of mines, some flash, some sonic, some frag, that I put around my neck. Next, I untangled my armor and repeater out of the cargo mesh to one side.

Without the roar of the wind in my ears, I could now hear the whine of repulsorlifts, and snatched the electronocs from Bastila. I swore when the image resolved itself. Just as T3 let out a panicked whine, I saw the fireball erupt from the lodge's speeder garage. "Sounds like somebody threw a temper tantrum when they didn't find us at home."

"They've got speeder bikes," she said. "I can hear the engines."

T3 beeped at me. "Battle droids, too," I said grimly.

"Here." I ducked back out of the string of mines and tossed them to her. "Seed 'em."

"Sixteen mines?" she said incredulously. "I'd better take the utility cord, as well," she said. "Unless you truly believe that these will take out a dozen troops apiece."

I tossed her the blocky, palm-sized unit that spat liquid rope out of a nozzle. "It's not very strong. It'll make a nice bunting for a party, but that's about it."

"Let me worry about that," she said, and was off through the narrow maze of rocks.

I checked my repeater. Full charge. An extra charge went in my thigh pocket for luck and pulled up the bottom of the compartment to reveal the pair of vibroblades stashed there. _Take that, Republic_, I thought. Carth had scoffed at my plans to take heavy armament. "That's not the weapon she's going to be interested in," he'd said, surprising me with a crack I expected more from Revan than from him.

Bastila returned just as I was sheathing the swords on my back. "Mines laid," she said. "And a little surprise for any ground vehicles."

I gave her some grenades from the side pocket of the pack. From the other side, I pulled four slender straps. "Here's your jewelry." I took her wrist in my hand and slapped a wrist strap across the delicate bones. The flexible strip wrapped around her limb and snapped into place. "They're strong and Arkanian. There's some ale still left in the pack. We'll have it after the casualties have been totaled."

She gaped at me. "Only you, Canderous," she muttered, touching the strap. "An energy shield is not jewelry."

"Looks good on you, Princess." I grinned and slapped the other one on her other wrist. The last two were for me. I put the electronocs up to my eyes again. "It looks like they've got droids. Can you do that thing you do to droids?"

"I believe I can," she said.

I called up the speeder's topography map and zoomed in to our immediate vicinity. "We meet them on high ground. Hold position here--" I pointed to the map that showed the tallest section of rocks, a formation of uneven boulders almost five meters high, "--for as long as you're able." I pointed to the next area of the map, a large, flat-topped rock about the height of a man. "Fall back to here, keeping to high ground. Let the mines and the cord do the work." I slammed the cargo compartment closed. "Don't engage them hand to hand until you have no other options. Use those Force talents of yours to take out the droids first."

"Where will you be?" she asked.

I grinned, feeling the rush of it through my blood. "I'll be making their nightmares about Mandalorians come true." I reached up and fingered the battle braids at her temples, stroking my thumb over the tiny beads binding them. "Be wary. They may have Jedi-resistant skills."

Her shoulders drooped and she hooked her lightsaber to her belt. "This is ridiculous. We can't hope to fend off three hundred soldiers. Canderous--"

"Don't you dare," I said, cutting her off. I didn't have to be Force sensitive to know she had self-sacrifice on her mind. It was the Way of the Jedi--to not know when it was time to shut up and shoot. I reached over and pulled the lightsaber off her belt and put it in her hand. "Why did you choose the blue lightsaber when you returned to the Order?" I asked.

"It's the opposite of red," she answered, her fingers still too loose around the weapon. "Don't you see--it's me they're after. I can prevent the slaughter if I surrender."

"Who do you reckon to surrender to? That group over there?" I pointed to the armored regiment coming towards us from the southeast. "Or that bunch of dogs coming up from due South? Maybe those over there? Do those weapons look like the tools of peace?"

She sighed. "I have to try." She looked down at her hands, still resting lightly on the lightsaber. "What use am I if I cannot find an alternative more creative than violence?"

"Blue is the saber color of your Order's warriors, is it not? Be a warrior, Bastila. There is a time to fight. Now is that time."

Distant crimson bolts from the Hawk's lasers lit the air around the knots of troopers and droids fanning out from the Hawk in all directions. I made sure Bastila's perch on the high point was as secure as possible, clearing away small pebbles that might give away her position before it was time.

"Canderous," she said as I prepared to climb down to my own perch. I stopped and turned.

"Be care--" she closed her mouth for a moment. Her blue-green eyes still held a troubled shadow. "I mean, fight well."

I grinned at her. "Let them come."

I was down at ground level when she spoke again. "Canderous?"

I looked up. She peered down at me. "By 'fight well' I meant don't do anything suicidally stupid simply to be Mandalorian."

I laughed all the way to the southernmost section of the rocks where I'd chosen to make my stand. A clan bard couldn't have come up with a more appropriate declaration of affection. I hunkered down at the edge of the squared-off drop where a ground-level path started through the cluster of boulders, waiting for the moment to reveal our presence.

The knots of soldiers resolved themselves into half a dozen distinct platoons, ranging over the plain towards the largest of the clustered rock formations that were the cores of ancient mountains worn down by water millennia ago and now served as places we might be hiding. Predictably, given the size of the formation where we rested, a platoon headed for us. Too easy, I thought. Until that platoon discovered we were here. Then the rest would come and the fun would really begin. From the transport to the east of us, flashes of slate blue, olive green, burgundy, and dark yellow glimmered in the morning light as troops marched neatly and double-time down the boarding ramp.

Grenades dangled from my belt on loops. The vibroblades lay sheathed at my back. Shield generators strapped to my wrists. The repeater sat charged and ready. Unlike Bastila, I didn't care who they were or why they were here. Only that they wanted her, and they would have to get through me first. I became still, as warriors are taught, and let my senses tell me what I needed to know.

The wind held more of a hint of humidity than this morning. The clouds ate a larger wedge of sky to the west. The wind carried repulsorlift ozone from the south where the bulk of the troops originated. The droids accompanying the troops heading for our rock pile ground forward on metallic treads that ground up the small rocks littering the ground, but seemed to avoid anything larger than the size of a man's head. A liability I would be happy to exploit. Shouldn't have brought top-heavy treaded droids to a rocky desert. The troops with the droids slowed their speeder bikes to accommodate the troubled hardware.

Five point men crossed the shadows of the rocks in front of me, blasters drawn. I watched them pass below me. Four humans, one Rodian, lagging behind the others, antennae twitching.

I'd intended to follow my own instructions to Bastila, and wait as long as I could before revealing myself--to let the mines take care of as many of them as possible before opening fire. But the temptation was too great for me to resist, and the opportunity to bring them down opened up before me like a gift. Moving silently, fluidly, I slipped the repeater into its tactical sling and drew out two utility knives from arm sheaths.

I dropped lightly to the ground just behind the Rodian. It was over too quickly. Both my arms went around his shoulders and snapped back, leaving twin slashes through his windpipe. I let his weight fall on me, Rodian stink overpowering any other smells I might have noticed. I held my breath and eased him to the ground. Three meters ahead, his buddy stopped and began to turn.

I sprang forward and snapped his neck. The crack gave me away and the remaining three whirled. One was a second too slow in pulling the blaster he held loosely pointed towards the ground. It was the last thing he ever did. I'd get my knife out of his throat later.

The last two faced me together. I snap-kicked the shorter man in the face and swiped the knife across the gut of the taller one just as the first adrenaline-soaked rush of battle-lust hit me. The shorter man reeled backwards, blood gushing from his nose. The taller squeezed the trigger on the blaster in his hand. I head-butted his face and the crimson blaster bolt lit the narrow space between our bodies. A burn lanced across the juncture of my hip and thigh as the ablative plates of my armor discharged the energy as heat. I smelled my own charred flesh.

I jammed my remaining knife up through the bottom of his jaw and nailed his tongue to the roof of his mouth with it. I turned to the survivor as his last companion dropped. "Come on," I said savagely, flexing my hands.

His eyes, brilliant blue and white in contrast to the bright blood fountaining from his nose, widened. "M-mandalorian!" he croaked. Nice to know the armor still has its effect. He turned and ran and died like a coward, stepping on one of the small mines betrayed only by the slight scuffing of the dirt around them. I ducked. Shards of shrapnel rained down over my forearms, pinging off the shell of my armor. I cursed silently. So much for keeping ourselves hidden.

_He'd have stepped on one eventually_, I thought as I jumped back onto the low table-topped boulder in front of me. I heard the grind of droid treads grinding over the rocky dirt. I unslung my repeater just as the first of them burst around a jutting boulder edge. I fired at it twice and crouched down behind the boulder.

Using the rocks for as much cover as I could, I jumped from one outcropping to the next, firing the repeater in the spaces between. The assault droid's weapons glowed, primed, and fired, taking out a fist-sized chunk of the rock that hid my head. I leaned to the side, around the boulder and fired again. By now, though, the troops had ranged out around the droid and blaster bolts began to rain into the air around me.

I stood in the gap between two covering rocks and opened up on the oncoming troops.

Two bolts splashed off my shields. Electric tingles buzzed in the air around me, letting me know the shields were taking damage with every hit.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the telltale scuffs of newly-moved dirt where another group of mines clustered.

Bastila's "Don't do anything Mandalorian" admonition played in my mind, even as I jumped on top of one of the rocks to confront the advancing troops head on. I laughed and used the repeater to stitch a line of bolts along the line of soldiers and droids. Two fell from my weapon, and the first assault droid that I'd been aiming for finally sparked and smoked, stalling on its treads.

It still had its weapon, though, and the remaining five men in the front line were soon joined by comrades. I used one of my precious grenades to cover my retreat. When the smoke cleared, the mines littering the narrow trail stood between me and the advancing troops.

I jumped from that rock to another, across the narrow ground path the droids would be forced to take. A blaster bolt caught my boot, sending me spinning so I landed facedown over the next set of rocks. Fist-sized stones dug into my ribs and stomach as I scrambled for cover. I fired the blaster behind me randomly until I got my footing and grunted with the effort of moving around the rocks in my armor.

I lobbed another grenade to keep the side forces from flanking me, and plugged my ears while it went off. I staggered as the shockwave hit me. Less than a quarter of them were flattened by the grenade. The rest reappeared from behind rocks, advancing as more of their comrades poured through the narrow gap of the rockfall entrance. The repeater barrel heated up in my hands but I kept firing, coaxing them back. Crimson glow lit the air around me as their blaster bolts diffused in my shields.

Troops in the back began scrambling up the rocks, negating my height advantage and preparing to flank me. One of them got off a clean shot that splashed off my shields, right in front of my face. Without the shield, my helmet would have been a smoking hole.

The advantage of the uneven ground meant that very few of the oncoming enemy could get a clear shot at me at one time. As long as I kept moving. "Come on, you bastards!" I shouted over the dull percussion of blaster fire. "Come and get a taste of death by Ordo!"

My retreat led me to a fork in the path between rocks. To my right lay the bulk of the mines and the tower rock that kept Bastila safe. To my left, the path led away. I did not want to lead these dogs to Bastila. My honor meant nothing if she were hurt or killed during a Bridal Raid. I would have failed in the most basic of proofs. Yet if my clan still existed, they'd be manning orbital gunships to deflect intruders like this.

I may have no clan, and my honor may be in shreds, but damned if I don't have good backup. I told her so myself, up on the mesa. She'd survive, and so would I. And stupid warriors don't get to breed. I ducked to the right.

My hearing suddenly disappeared for an instant as a shockwave of Force energy traveled over me from behind. The crippled assault droid exploded in a shower of sparks, and the other droid's weapon, in the middle of priming, sputtered and died.

Shouts of "Jedi!" from the commanding officers of our enemies prompted the troops to range out in a looser formation. Smart move. Bastila could only target maybe three of them at a time when they ranged out that way. I turned to the side, praying that my shields would hold out, and started picking off soldiers attempting to flank me. My left shield shorted out, the wristband leaving a char-mark on my armor. I shook off the band and hoped the other one would hold.

But my luck turned when a third droid, accompanied by a fresh squad of fighters laying down cover fire rolled towards me and did me the favor of triggering the land mines. In the chaos, I was able to whittle away three more enemies before my other shield failed and the blaster bolts started heating up the ceramisteel of my armor.

I roared out challenges over the noise of blaster fire, aiming and taking down grunts one by one. They kept coming, and over the grinding noise of droid gears and the thunk-thunk of heavy blasters, I heard the whine of an ion drive above my head. Kath crap. "T3!" I yelled. "Shoot down whatever's flying above our heads!" The droid gave a fretful squawk. "I don't care if they're out of range, shoot anyway!"

I backed down the trail, closer to where Bastila remained hidden. In between firing, I felt the pressure waves as she used the Force to knock her enemies over in groups of three and four.

By now, the soldiers pursuing us had caught on to the presence of mines in the path, and ranged even further out over the rocks, swarming over them like fire-beetles on a fresh corpse. I pulled out another grenade and glanced down. Perhaps my gods are not dead after all.

I aimed low, and the plasma grenade skittered along a large, flat rock and came to rest in a crevasse bisecting it. The seven men standing on the rock jumped off it, just in time for the grenade's explosion to send half a ton of rock hailing down on them and blocking the path.

I turned to my right and saw that the remainder of the platoon--probably two dozen sentients--had guessed where Bastila's hideout was. Two droids ground servo gears attempting to move around the large spill of boulders, while the troops took turns shooting either at me or up at her, and their buddies found toeholds up the rocks. I had picked off four of them when my repeater snicked in my hand, the empty charge landing at my feet.

I knelt behind cover and pulled out the spare from the utility pocket at my hip and reloaded the repeater. While I was reloading, the chaos died down enough for me to hear something that startled me so badly that I fumbled and dropped the power cell. A series of distant, rhythmic sonic thumps. Knowledge I thought I'd put to rest permanently came slowly awake. Words formed in my mind--names I hadn't spoken in a decade or more. _Mithras_. _Sutek_. _Desh-iret_. Clan names. _Mandalorian_ Clan names.


	102. Sooner or Later

Sooner or Later

Bastila

From my perch so high up, I watched the swarms of troops converge on us. Over a hundred to one, I thought. Even Canderous couldn't be pleased with those odds. It wasn't a battle, it was suicide. When I could no longer avoid doing so, I sent wave after wave of Force-energy towards the troops below me. I summoned the Force to me and charged it before returning it out to wreak havoc with droid mechanisms. When the blaster bolts began pinging rocks around my head, I thumbed the plate of my lightsaber and used it to deflect the bolts.

They were climbing up my rock now. Sooner or later, one of them would reach me. Across the trail, Canderous laid down cover fire, sniping them off the rock, but there were more of them than there were of him. Sooner or later, we would fall.

Random thoughts peppered my mind. Revan, where are you? Canderous, why do you have to be so obtusely Mandalorian? Carth, why didn't you plan better? Why had I originally objected to the Masters' decision to keep my fall a private matter?

And why were those troops from the small transport that swooped us marching towards that last platoon making its way across the plain towards us? "T3," I said into my commlink as I deflected a blaster bolt. "Identify that transport to the east of us."

T3 returned little information, but it was enough. The transport had no current identification codes, but comm chatter intercepted from it used encryption that the Mandalorians used at the beginning of their war with the Republic. "Mandalorians?" I said, shock nearly knocking me off my perch on the rocks. Visions of more severed heads and blood rituals crawled into my mind, along with the realization that if that transport carried more Mandalorians like the thugs we'd met on Dantooine and Kashyyyk, it could very well break Canderous's heart.

But as I watched the Mandalorians engage the mercenaries, I realized that you just never know with Mandalorians. The Mandalores severed the last platoon from their comrades--and us.

Sooner or later arrived too quickly. I kicked downward, knocking the first attacker from his precarious handhold less than a meter below me. My lightsaber sliced through the rocky protrusion that held the next. But behind me, I heard the rocks clatter almost level with my height, and felt in the Force the presence of enemies on the other side of the rock hollow where I stood. I made the decision then to leave my perch. At least six meters separated me from Canderous's vantage point. A jump Juhani could have easily made, but I had not trained in using the Force that way. That didn't mean I wouldn't try.

In deflecting blaster bolts, Master Zhar had always taught me to let myself know where they were. The Force told me where the bolts would be, I just had to open myself to accepting that I already had that information. The same could surely apply to using the Force to leap. I had to open myself to the Force, and let myself accept that I _would_ land where I needed to.

I closed my eyes, opened my heart, and crouched. With a mighty surge of effort in the Force, I pushed off from the ground. The wind rushed against my face, fast and carrying with it a hint of humidity that wasn't there before. The sharp sting of a blaster bolt penetrated my shields and seared a path along my thigh and my eyes snapped open to see rock right in front of my nose.

My hands shot out, led by instinct and the Force to find the small finger and toe holds in the rock. I hung there like a particularly target-attractive spider when Canderous's tight-lipped red face appeared centimeters from mine.

"Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again," he said, jerking me up and behind the rock. The troops concerned with climbing to my perch turned our way and began the climb up our new position.

I looked back over to my former perch and reignited my lightsaber to deflect a blaster bolt. From over here, it looked much further away than I'd originally thought. "How am I supposed to get it right if I don't practice," I said. He isn't the only one who can be unexpected. "I need to move eastward," I said, ending the discussion about me putting myself in danger before it began.

"Why?" He pulled me by the arm back further as a pair of droids rolled over the land mines I'd laid. The concussion shock sent dirt and rocks flying everywhere.

"We may have allies there," I said. I told him about the Mandalorians and their activities. "Besides, we're all out of mines through here. I set up cable traps on the other side."

He turned to the east. "Hah." He pulled me along with him across the top of the rocks, towards a crevasse formed by two pointy-topped rocks that resembled the cones of a Gotal. Without words, he braced and I stepped on his knee to reach the crevasse's safety. He climbed up after me, even accepted the hand I reached down to steady him.

The other side of the crevasse held wider paths between the rocks, and a bigger problem than the scant double handful of troops left on the other side. Canderous brought the repeater up, but instead of firing into the fray, he fired into the air, a series of long and short bursts three times over.

I sent a Force-wave to distract the nearest soldiers. "The enemy is closer to the ground," I said.

He crouched down beside me. "Listen."

Over the energetic pulses of discharging blasters, I heard a deeper thumping. "It sounds like tunneling machinery." Dear Force, were they coming up from under our feet?

"It's Mandalorian thumptalk," he said. "From sonic pulsers. Hasn't been used in decades, since we started using stronger helmet comm signals."

He started to laugh then, great, body-shaking laughs. _He really has gone round the bend_, I thought. "They're asking if they can join the battle," he said.

Our perch in the crevasse allowed me to see in all directions, and I saw that more company came from the North. A second Mandalorian transport disgorged another platoon of troops, headed for our position. I turned and focused on the scores of mercenaries below us, some breaking out into teams of three men to set up cannons on tripods. "They mean to blast the rocks from under us," I said.

I used the Force to send wave after wave of energy, but there were too many of them, with too many weapons. For every trio I knocked down, another two leapt from behind rocks to take up where their comrades left off. I lost count of how many waves of Force energy I sent towards the oncoming troops. My knees began to shake from exertion and I flattened my back against the rock to keep from falling all the way down into the crevasse. A blaster bolt found its mark behind me, and my shield shocked me in its death throes.

I turned and used the Force to throw my lightsaber in a spinning arc that decapitated the owner of the blaster, but a dozen others remained to take his place. The earbud of my commlink gave a sudden feedback whine. I doubled over and slapped my free hand over my ear uselessly, and a blaster bolt zinged over my head to char Canderous's shoulder.

"Warrior of Ordo," a raspy voice came over the static in my ear. Canderous looked up. The Mandalorians had hijacked our comm link with the _Hawk_. "Is this your Bridal Raid?"

"Yeah," Canderous grunted, wariness in his tone as he fired the repeater in a steady rhythm down onto the wide path. "Just taking care of some party crashers."

"Clan Desh-iret sends its congratulations, and our thanks for you allowing us to assist you." The message was delivered and followed by a huge boom from behind us. I looked down to see the dozen men I'd left behind flattened by a concussion grenade, and the area around us filling up with Mandalorians.

"Fall back," I said, grabbing his shoulder.

Canderous turned to look and a wide smile split his face. "Now it's a party," he said.

The party was over in the next instant as the rock supporting me exploded.


	103. Late Arrivals

A/N: Sorry for the long stretch between updates, folks, but I do have a really good reason for it. Those of you who know me know the reason. :) I know I said the next update would be the last, but the reality is that there are too many chapters for me to do a single update. I think I'd blow up the servers. So I'm updating this thing in two chunks. This chunk features 9 chapters. The next will be the remaining 6 (maybe 8) plus the epilogue and author's notes.

So now to the thanks: Props go to my wonderful beta, Intrepid, who yapped with me over IM regarding motivations, battle plans, and whether or not I'm dilly-dallying before getting to the end. To the reviewers...Leaper182, thanks so much for the detailed email as well as the public review! It was worth it to read, and I will get around to responding. Thylja, I'm glad you like the narrative style...it's a new thing for me and one that is very difficult to pull off no matter what kind of story you're writing. I'm only glad that so many people like it. LtSonya, Libythese, Anonymous-cat (how did I miss you before?), OneSongKatie, maddaboutjew, ether-fanfic (if you're mushy at the romances, my work here is done...muhahaha), VMorticia, K.Bammel, and snackfiend101, Feza, icey cold (there's no well that I know of...but when the characters talk to you for this long, you get the message that you ought to be telling their story just to get a little peace and quiet), and arrow maker. For those of you who have stuck with me through now, you have my eternal gratitude. I know there's a long road between chapter 1 and where we are now, and I hope I've done it justice.

Late Arrivals

Carth

"Well, hell," I said, guiding the _Mirialis_ into Yavin 13's orbit out of a pinkish haze of enemy fire. "Grab your guns, gang. It doesn't look like we're getting a warm welcome."

Noura's voice came over the comm. "I thought I ordered you to set course for Zeltros, flyboy. I wanted to be greeted with flower garlands and drinks with paper umbrellas in 'em."

"How 'bout the lovely magnetic halo of an energy shield? I'll see if I can rummage up a paper umbrella to stick in the hilt of your lightsaber, sweet thing."

I caught Varenna's look in my direction. "What?" I said off the comm.

She simply shook her head. "Positively saccharine."

I flashed her a grin. "Yeah. Drove the Sith nuts every time they tried to torture us." I twisted my head back and forth to relieve some of the tension. After the little spat we had with the Black Hand, we found allies in two sleek-looking fighters of unusual design who commed us and said they'd get our back from here on in.

Noura's head appeared in the hatch leading down to the main deck. "Just thought I'd pop up to say this thing needs an overhaul. You have silica-ticks nesting in the engines."

"Did you save the fluff?" Varenna asked.

I turned to stare at her. She shrugged. "My people use it in hunting traps."

"How many of your people actually survive a spaceflight?" I wanted to know. Silica-tick fluff?

"One less if you don't pay attention, Commander," she said.

"I like you," Noura said, hoisting herself up to the command deck.

Why did the bottom drop out of my stomach when she said that?

"YV-666 _Mirialis_, thank the stars you're somebody I recognize. You're cleared for landing. Welcome back, Ambassador. You know the routine." The voice of the planet's only air-traffic controller sounded more than a little on-edge.

"How many landings has this guy seen?" I muttered. "And what's the routine?" I asked.

"No flyovers within ten kilometers of either city. North-south traffic at eight thousand kilometers, East-west traffic at ten thousand. Don't crash into anybody."

"Deceptively simple," Noura muttered. "At least it's not like Manaan--fly in a hash-mark pattern, do a loop-de-loop, stand on your head and sing the planetary anthem backwards--"

"It wasn't that bad," I said.

Noura leaned over my shoulder as we entered the atmosphere. I breathed in her scent and closed my eyes for just a second, wishing we were almost anywhere else but here. "Why didn't we have to have an access code to land?" Noura asked.

"The planet's a recreation area," the ambassador said. "Open to anyone who has permission to enter the system."

"Just great," I muttered. The curve of the planet's surface came into view, dirt-brown, with bits of green and one large ocean separating the hemispheres. Large canyons cut across the southern coastal mountains of the northern continent, shallowing out as the main continental plateau spread out. As the oceans gave way to foothills and then to mountains, clouds piled up and tumbled over the peaks

Noura draped her arms around my shoulders. "Cheer up, flyboy," she said brightly, "After this, we ought to be the talk of the galaxy for years to come. So tell me, Ambassador, what's the area like around your lodge? Is there a settlement close by to provision, or do you have to bring everything in with you? How do you get water? Where _is_ all the water? I don't see any lakes, or rivers feeding that ocean."

I looked up at her. Her eyes were too bright, her smile was--she reminded me of Taris, the night she went to fight Bendak Starkiller in the death match I'd practically ordered her not to do. I took one hand off the controls and put it over hers. "Noura," I whispered in her ear. "You're not fooling me. Get back down to the bunkroom and sleep. We've got at least half an hour before we're ready to land."

"Comm coming in," Varenna said. "It's...the Jedi."

She flipped the switch, and Jolee's voice filled the cabin. "I've changed my mind. I'm going back to my hermitage on Kashyyyk."

Noura reached over my shoulder and opened our respond channel. "Too late, old man. The Wookiees already turned it into a cantina."

"Then I'll clean the 'freshers for a living," the old man replied. "Anything to avoid Jedi politics."

"What's going on there, Jolee?" I asked, dread filling my gut.

"Probably the usual," Noura muttered. "Master Vrook thinks I'm a menace to society, and Vandar has to talk him back to reason."

"Is everyone all right in the enclave?" I asked. Noura may be able to fake her way through it, but my blood ran cold when I thought about that blaster shot hitting her.

"The enclave is--stable," Jolee said. "Once you left, everyone who had the means to get off-planet went after you. My guess is most of them are still queued up waiting for spaceport authority to clear them. Fortunately, I'm not too much of a Jedi to have forgotten how to circumvent the little things that get in our way."

"Fantastic," Noura muttered. "We're going to be a spectacle."

"You're already a spectacle, which is why I'm calling. I'm here with Vrook, Vandar, and Zaalbar. That maniac droid of yours is with us as well. Thank the Force somebody figured out how to power him down to standby mode. But we're not what you ought to be worried about."

"Tell me something I don't already know," I said. "We've got mercs and law enforcement from every backwater sinkhole in the galaxy wanting a piece of us."

"Well add the Jedi to the mix, son," Jolee said. "There are four Jedi starfighters from Coruscant on their way here."

"What the hell for?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Insurance," Noura said quietly.

"Damage control," Varenna said. "Both you and the Mandalorian's lady have been running free for several weeks. If the Jedi had wanted you in restrictive custody, they'd have done so before your identities and actions began to be speculated about." Her smile was a wry twist. "The Jedi may claim to serve the Force and the Force alone, but they still play the game, make no mistakes about that."

"That sounds about right," Noura said. Louder, she said, "Jolee, what's the Council's opinion on this?"

"They're not getting involved," Jolee replied. "But--" he lowered his voice and we all had to strain to hear him. "--if you ask me, they know who the Jedi on those starfighters are, and they're not happy about them being here."

Noura frowned. "Should that make me happy or not?"

"That I can't say," Jolee said. "I'm sensing things I haven't sensed in decades, and I have to think about this. I just wanted to warn you."

"Thanks, old man. I owe you one." Noura signed off.

I glanced back at her, but she wouldn't meet my eyes. I know her well enough to almost hear the wheels turning, but I said nothing. "They all want Darth Revan, don't they?" she muttered. "Maybe I ought to give them what they want."

I put my hand over hers, resting on my shoulder. "Nobody booked us as the dinner theater for this joint," I said.

Varenna shrugged. "It's bread and circuses in the political game," she said. "Politics is all about walking the fine line between giving the people what they want, and getting the people to want what you want them to want."

"I can't even understand that statement without moving my lips and thinking real hard," Noura said.

Beneath my own, her hand was cold. She leaned forward as we closed in on the atmosphere. "There," she said. "Take us in low."

"In that?" Gerda the Dug rumbled in disbelief. A storm was rolling up from the south. Thunderheads were spilling over the hills that divided the mountains from the mesa-dotted high desert.

Noura glanced at him. "Unless you'd like to dodge potshots all the way in to the landing site? Let's ride the storm." To Varenna, she said, "If you're going to be throwing your lot in with us, you might think about getting a combat pilot."

"Oh, I'm not throwing my lot in with anyone," Varenna replied, her youthful featured pulled into a moue. "I'm a politician, remember? I play for my own team."


	104. Reunion

Reunion

Canderous

I pulled Bastila into my arms as we fell, trying to shield her unarmored body with my own as we rolled over the rough crags and came to rest four meters below what was left of the horns of the crevasse, practically at the feet of a group of helmeted Mandalorians.

The ranks of warriors who arranged themselves around us were uniformly short for Mandalorians. Their ill-fitting armor clanked and clattered as they moved. Beside me, Bastila groaned and shifted her hips. She pulled a fist-sized rock out from underneath her and tossed it to the side. "Ouch," she said.

I felt the adrenal buzz of my implant kicking in, even as I checked her for broken bones. Her clothing, such as it was, bore several tears in it. One long one right over her knee revealed an equally long scrape, crusted with dirt and already starting to ooze blood.

The tallest of the warriors spoke. "Ordo warrior. This is the woman for which you fight?" The Desh-iret warrior whose voice I recognized from the commlink offered me a hand. I stared up into the visor's eye slits. The paint was chipped in several places over the helm's surface, and the plates of the chest piece touched one another over the shoulders and breastplate, indicating that the shoulders had once belonged to a larger set of armor.

Bastila pushed me off her and sat up. "That hurt," she said. I winced. When Revan got a look at her, I'd be paying for every single one of her scratches.

"You okay?" I asked.

She sat up and winced, rubbing her leg. That gash along her knee needed tending. In fact, we both needed time to regroup our forces. Not that we had forces. "Can you buy me a few moments to patch up?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"I'm Canderous of Ordo," I said. "You know who I am. Now who are you?"

"Artavash, of Desh-iret," the warrior said, removing the chipped helm to reveal dozens of microbraids of dark hair. Dark blue tattoos etched delicate lines across her coffee-colored skin. I recognized kill tallies and clan alliances among the sigils. Ancient practices that fell out of use generations ago for all but the most strictly traditional of clans. But for this, she looked to be around Carth's age.

Another warrior stepped forward. "Tactical reports that Wayfarer Three has landed, Artavash."

"About time," the tall woman said.

"There are more of you?" Bastila's voice held an edge of disbelief.

"Yes, Lady," the helmeted warrior said. "More enemy troops have landed as well. Perhaps a hundred and fifty, carrying the mark of Jahuurda the Hutt. Tactical reports that the bounty offered up by Jahuurda for the live capture of the Jedi Bastila Shan just climbed to one point five million credits."

"Is that all?" I said, over Bastila's small sound of surprise. "Malak blew up two planets looking for her." I squinted up at the young man. "That's a lot of money. Why aren't you all out there trying to collect it? Or are you?"

The young man's eyes flickered to the group. "We were," he admitted. "Until we discovered that an Ordo was holding a Bridal Raid."

I frowned. "A million and a half credits is a lot of armor upgrades that you look like you need," I said. "Why?"

Artavash of Desh-iret scowled at me. "Credits don't buy honor."

I looked at the Desh-iret warrior. "There's a platoon right over that rock pile. It's yours if you want it."

She grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Wayfarers, to me!" She pumped a fist and led the assembled Mandalorians up the trail to the jagged hunk of rock left over from the crevasse. Three warriors, shorter than the rest, stayed behind.

I stared at the one in the middle, noting the armorial decorations.

Braided strips of hide heavy with beads hung off the shoulder pauldrons, and a many-linked chain made from what looked like the bent pins of grenades draped the warrior's shoulders. The plates of this warrior's armor matched, but the fabric in between them bunched and sagged beneath a stoop-shouldered form. "Rumors around the HoloNet claimed a Mandalorian in the company of Jedi struck deep into the heart of the Sith Empire. Then your face became as common a sight as the HoloNet logo, and tales of your battle against Malak of the Sith spread through known space. I knew you would understand the Wayfarers."

"The Wayfarers?" Bastila asked. Beside me, she shifted, and drew in a sharp breath at the aggravation of one of her injuries.

"We are true Mandalores who keep to the old ways. We've been seeking others like ourselves. The remnants of the true clans. There aren't many of us who haven't turned to thievery in the last five years." The warrior motioned to one of the taller soldiers. "Helms off."

They obeyed, revealing the smooth-cheeked faces of teenagers who'd have barely seen their first battle. My eyes widened. No wonder they looked so short to me. They helped the middle warrior lift the slit-visored helm to reveal a face as weathered as the rocks that surrounded us. "Canderous of Ordo," the old woman said. "It's been a long time."

I was glad my ass was still stuck to the ground. "Nuana of Mithras?" I said, dumbfounded, staring up at the hunched and frail-looking woman. Her thick white hair was pinned to her head in two fat braids decorated with beads and feathers. "You're still alive?"

The old woman threw her head back and cackled. "A hundred and seventeen winters I've seen, lad. And in spite of the best efforts of you and all the others of your ilk, I ain't dead yet."

Bastila shifted beside me and I could almost feel her unspoken question. "Bastila Shan is the woman I fight for." To Bastila, I said. "Nuana of Mithras is the closest thing I have in this galaxy to a mother. A Clanmother."

Bastila's jaw dropped. Nuana cackled again. "I took this one and his younger brothers from Ordo when Mandalore allied us with Ulic Qel-Droma," she said.

I shrugged at Bastila's wide-eyed glance. "I wasn't quite old enough to fight."

"Or you'd have been indentured to Qel-Droma and left to fend for yourself on Dxun, too," Bastila said sharply.

I shrugged. "I would've died well."

I thought I heard her mutter, "Mandalorian." I grinned.

"Clanmother," one of the youths addressed the old woman. "Tactical reports that Wayfarer Two and Four are landing now. They converge on the plain to the southeast of here," he said, his voice cracking.

"Then that's where we'll meet 'em," I said. I turned to Bastila, who rose stiffly to her feet. The few minutes we stayed on the ground had allowed her to patch up her knee using her magic. But she still looked wrung out. "You." I pointed to the young soldier.

"Faris. Of Remesse."

"Provide the Jedi with a secure area where she can meditate. And you--" I pointed to the other youth.

"Zareb of Sutek."

I nodded. "Sutek is known for its fierceness. Protect her with your life. Anyone comes close enough to shoot, you'd better shoot first."

Neither one moved. I looked at Nuana. She raised her eyebrows as if to say, "What will you do about it?"

I drew the vibroblades from my back. "Move now," I said calmly, "or never move again." I stared first into Faris's blue eyes until he looked away, then into Zareb's light brown ones.

Finally he nodded, and glanced at Nuana. "Was that right, Clanmother?"

The old woman shrugged. "Did you come to gauge him worthy to lead you? It appears you did. Now prove yourself worthy by following his orders."

The two young men snapped into motion. "We noted your speeder to the north," Faris said. "The position is easily defensible."

"Good," I said.

"I hear," Nuana said, "That you have the same Force-gifts as the formidable Nomi Sunrider. With that talent, we would be assured of a quick victory." With a sly glance in Bastila's direction, the old woman continued. "Sparing many lives."

Bastila shot her a look. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe that the sparing of lives is your highest priority."

"Ha!" Nuana cackled. "A clever shot, but you'd be wrong, there, girlie. These children will never know what it means to grow up Mandalore. Too many of the clans have turned to piracy, or raiding, against unworthy opponents. When we fight, the children and elders too old to fight take nursery ships to deep space or hidden worlds. If the battle should lead us back to our homeworlds, we don't risk our noncombatants. These young ones have no clans to return to. I would at least have them know what it is to fight well, and valiantly."

When we reached the speeder, Bastila touched my shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?" she said.

Her battle braids had come loose. I tucked them back behind their ears. "Giving you a chance to heal."

"But my Battlemind--" She sighed, and her left hand clenched into a fist. "After the Star Forge, I cut myself off from the Force. Since then I have had neither the strength nor the focus to use my Battle Meditation. I don't know if I can do it anymore without rage and hatred taking me over."

One more time, I sent out a silent curse to the old wizards who'd brainwashed her into fearing everything, including fear itself. Did they have any idea how dependent on them that made the Jedi at their command? "Of course you can do it. It's a part of you," I said. "You can't _not_ do it."

She closed her eyes again. "I know that, I suppose. But where will it come from? Through what part of me will the Force flow? Will my Battlemind lead to victory? Or slaughter?"

I didn't know. I didn't care. But if it mattered to her, then it mattered to me. "You're not going to slaughter anybody," I said.

Her eyes opened again, this time their aqua color was icy. "If anything, our relationship makes you more likely to be susceptible to my influence--whatever way I choose to influence you. What makes you the exception to the rule?"

I laughed, not without a hint of ruefulness. She would either overcome her doubts, or she wouldn't. I couldn't help her with this. "You'd have slaughtered me already."


	105. More or Less

More or Less

Revan

We hit the atmospheric traffic lanes, such as they were. Traffic appeared on the HUD, but most of it seemed to be traveling in from the east or west, heralding in from the spacelanes identified by orbital markers over the cities. Much like Korriban, I thought. Markers to herd you into where they wanted you to go--first as a suggestion, then using tractor beams for anyone deciding to drift off-course.

The Melodie, Varenna Aktil, glanced back at me. "What did you do with the silica-tick fluff?"

"You did not put it in the recycler unit, I hope," Gerda the Dug finally spoke.

I glared at the lanky alien working the controls with his feet. "I was the Dark Lord of the Sith. You don't get that far without learning how not to clog the 'freshers and recyclers on a ship." At Carth's glance, I shrugged. "Why hide it," I said. "The system's full of rubberneckers looking for Darth Revan."

"That's where the silica-tick fluff comes in," Varenna said. "Because of its silicate structure, it confuses the sensors and can clog the hyperdrives of anybody that wants to follow you too closely."

"Really?" Carth said. "That gives us an edge."

I rose with a last squeeze to his shoulder. "Why don't I take my bad reputation and lousy attitude down to the engine pit and get that fluff loaded into the torpedo tubes?"

The Melodie girl rose gracefully from the comm station. "I'll help," she said, following me down the ladder.

I would rather have had Mission with me, if I had to have a tagalong teenage companion. As we walked, Varenna stole glances at me. "How much of the Sith Lord still lives in you?" she finally asked.

I looked at her. At her young age, she was one of few humanoids I didn't have to look up to see in my recent adventures. "Do you want the happy answer or the true one?" I asked. We reached the engine pit and I helped her pull up the deck plates to reveal the hyperdrive below.

"Humor me and tell me both," she said with a smile.

I raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough. I have almost no memories of being Darth Revan, or of any of the actions committed by Darth Revan. I have the knowledge of them from holovids, news, recent history, and common awareness, but the only thing Darth Revan and I share is that we both lived in the same body." I hopped down into the engine pit and began handing her up the polymer bags of silica-tick fluff Mission and I had scraped from the engine cowling. At the third bag, I stopped moving under the intensity of her stare.

I let the silence stretch between us before speaking again. "And the truth is that I don't remember the exact things I did as Darth Revan, but if I had to fake the part, I could do it with very little effort."

"That much," she said, "is obvious from the way you carry yourself through the tasks you are given. It is customary for Dark Lords to hold the mindset that failure is not an option."

I gaped at her. "That's not how I do things at all," I said, knowing the protest sounded as feeble as it was. "All that with the Star Forge--I did it because it needed doing." Truth was, I expected to die fighting Malak--something we shared, that "Master and Apprentice" destiny crap.

"You never expected failure," she said. "Not a bad thing in and of itself, but it does make the average person wonder how far you would go for success, had you needed to."

Moments on Korriban, on all the planets, really, returned to me. Killing Calo Nord. Canderous and I had both derived savage joy from that, but when I got right down to the bare bones of it, we plowed through him because he was in my way. Darth Bandon on Kashyyyk even moreso. I'd barely spared a thought for him beyond scorn at the realization that facing me seemed to be some high honor he'd earned. Thinking how pathetic it was that he considered it an honor to hunt down a nobody in the company of a padawan that happened to have a nifty skill. Then later thinking how pathetic he was to have believed that he could take Malak's old master. "I, er, stepped on a lot of people on my way to the Star Forge," I said, and returned to passing up the last few bags of the crystalline flakes of the tiny pest's nesting material. But I knew all this already. "I did things that anyone might do in the same situation. But those things are dangerous for me of all people to be doing. Gah, I sound like Bastila, don't I?"

"I do not know Bastila very well," she said. "But you hold yourself to quite the high standard, don't you?"

I raised my eyebrows at that. "I think I have a rather good reason for it, don't you?"

"No more good or bad than anyone else," she said. "Put that one in your head and let it ferment."

_Things anybody might have done in the same situation_. I always focused on the "it's doubly dangerous for a Jedi" part. Gods of the Void...was I actually becoming as stuck up as Bastila when it came to my own worth as a Jedi? "It's disconcerting to be looking at someone Mission's age with Jolee's wisdom," I said finally, more than a hint of grump coming through.

She smiled, and the appearance of youth deepened. "I have a limited amount of time in which to be worldly, so I have to lay it on thick while I still have the chance." She reached a hand down to help me out of the engine pit. I took her hand in spite of the sense that I could have just as easily pulled her down given her slight size.

I remembered the lifecycle of her people. "Melodies go through a metamorphosis at about your age, don't they?"

The ambassador's countenance flickered into unsurety and the years rolled away. _She's a child_, I thought. An exceedingly clever and perceptive child, but a child nonetheless. "We do," she said, hauling me all the way up, the strength in her arm belying her size. "One day soon, I'll go into a coma and be returned to my homeworld while I change. I'll grow a tail and lose the ability to breathe air. I'll also be confined to the seas of my homeworld forever after. My best hope is that before I have to do that, I can take some worldliness, some sense that there's a galaxy outside our oceans, back to my people."

I looked closely at her young features. Hints of baby fat still lingered around her cheeks. There wasn't a single line around her eyes or lips, even with as much as she smiled. Kids her age weren't supposed to be so selfless and forward-thinking. "What do you think worldliness will bring to your folk?" I asked her. "You seem to know a lot about Exar Kun. He went looking for worldliness, too. And I'm willing to bet I didn't just trip over the Star Forge on my way to the 'fresher."

She twisted her lips in the first frown I saw her ever wear. It disappeared in a heartbeat, though. "In the oldest legends of my people, and of the Massassi exterminated from Yavin 4, the Dark side has always been strong in this system. Exar Kun was only the latest and worst of a long line of events that I've discovered most of the galaxy perceives as evil." She tilted her head. "Do you know, there are serious theories in philosophical circles that suggest that all life in the Yavin system came about through the will of the Dark side?"

"But what does that have to do with us?" I asked the question that was really on my mind. "I mean, how do our little dramas affect you and your people? Why are you so invested in what happens between Bastila and Canderous? You don't know us, and you don't seem inclined to believe in our reputations, either way." I asked the question that boiled down to the real reason anything happened in this galaxy. "What's in it for you?"

The enigmatic half-smile returned. "Let me ask you something," she replied. "What exists at the center of your being?"

I blinked. "Ask me something difficult next time." What did exist at the center of my being? I decided to continue the answer-the-question-with-a-question game. "What do you think is at the center of my being?"

Her mystery smile widened to a real one. "When people look at you, they will either see the Jedi Savior of the galaxy, or the Sith Lord Darth Revan. Which one are you?" She led me down a short access corridor that was more suited to her size than mine. Even the slight difference made it a less-than-comfortable fit for me until we reached the torpedo tube.

I shrugged at that. "Neither. Both. I don't know." I rubbed my suddenly throbbing temples. "Jolee once told me he saw through the Force that I had a big destiny. But right after he said that, he told me a story of a guy who also had a big destiny, which was apparently to fall into a hyperdrive." I glanced back towards the engine pit we'd just come from.

The smile turned into a laugh. "At the very least, I'm sure he made a big explosion."

I rolled the empty concussion charge canisters stacked against the wall to the center of the staging area. She tore open the polybags and emptied the silica-tick fluff into the canister's open maw. It took both of us to heft the lid back onto the hydraulic fitting. Tick-fluff kept sticking to the gaskets and making the seal fail.

Finally, I spit on the rubber ring and used the tail of my shirt to wipe it away, and snorted. "Big destiny, big explosion. I blew up a Star Forge. Thankfully, I didn't have to throw myself into its power plant to do it. But still...it follows me around like some damn...infection. I can't get away from it, it seems." I shrugged. "Maybe that's what's at the center of my being. A big destiny I don't want and can't control."

"That's where I figure you're wrong," the Melodie girl said, stopping me in my tracks. "I refuse to believe my people are anything more than another sentient race in this galaxy, no more or less entitled to free will and choice than any other. And you, my dear, are the same. No more or less than a human woman."

She stopped speaking while we maneuvered the canister onto the launch track of the tube. "The destiny, the Sith Lord, the Jedi Savior, all those exist around you. At the core, you are simply you. A human woman, as entitled as any other to free will and choice. Not a Sith and not a savior. Just an ordinary person." She closed her huge, liquid-brown eyes for a moment and laughed again. "That is what's in it for me." She slammed the door to the launch track and wiped her hands on the seat of her pants. "Some would believe that my people are of the Dark side, by-products of Dark sorcery and unable to escape that destiny. I would have them proven otherwise. In our hearts, we are no more or less than ourselves. If the galaxy can believe that about you, they will believe it about us."


	106. Emergence

Emergence

Bastila

I scrambled over the rocks after the two young warriors and Nuana, projecting the outward appearance of calm and serenity. Inside, my mind was a maelstrom. I believe it's growing accustomed to that state.

We reached the speeder and I stopped. Nuana pulled the blanket out of the scattered mess of picnic items strewn everywhere in our haste to arm up against the invasion. She laid down the blanket and looked at me. "No use in being uncomfortable while you're doing your Jedi magic."

As soon as I felt the thick woven wool under my knees, I couldn't forget what I'd been doing when I was last on the blanket and my face caught on fire. Nuana looked at me critically and raised an eyebrow.

I closed my eyes and sank into meditation pose. I refused to feel shame of any sort under the old woman's knowing look. But between her staring at me openly, and the furtive glances of the two young men set to guard me, my already tenuous connection to peace slipped like smoke through my fingers. I could not find that point where I immersed myself deep enough into the Force to sense the larger entity of a battle. Only in that place could I begin to visualize and project my will onto the opponents.

The two Mandalorian youths had placed camouflage field generators at either ends of the shallow overhang to ensure our privacy. Nuana stood guard with Faris, while Zareb remained outside the field, ranging about and keeping watch over a ten-meter radius. I was as safe as I could have been in any battle situation, except that the zealous Mandalorian youths could not protect me from the ghosts that lurked inside my own mind.

I went through the motions, convincing myself I was feeling that peace. I lied. What I really wanted to do was take my anger and shove it out into the universe, let it sweep over the hapless idiots who dared disturb me and let them slaughter each other until there was nothing left.

In my lap, my fists clenched. Canderous had faith in me, why couldn't I share that faith?

"What ails you, child?" The old woman said. "If it's Canderous of Ordo's declaration, you may be assured that he's kept it all in order. You may hold your head up as his wife."

My eyes snapped open irritably. "It has nothing to do with your--" I stopped myself before I could malign her traditions. "I must abide by the Council's determination. I took the vows of a Jedi."

The old woman snorted. "Listen here, young one. I fought at the side of Ulic Qel-Droma, when Jedi fought against Jedi, and I watched while Jedi fought and conquered my own people. We are more alike than the Jedi will admit."

Once I would have instantly scorned the notion. Now, I wasn't so sure. "You don't understand," I said. "I must be at peace, in a state of serenity, in order to properly focus my Battlemind." I shook my head helplessly. "Otherwise I fall once again to the dark side, and my battlemind feeds on it. I wouldn't expect you to understand," I said, not unkindly.

The old woman smiled. "You would be surprised, girl, what I understand about battle."

"It's worse than you might think," I said. "Dark side battlemind feeds on death and slaughter. It won't stop until..." I trailed off, the very memory of my own limitless bloodthirst terrifying me again.

"I've been a Mandalorian for a hundred and seventeen of your standard years." Nuana's bright eyes flashed. "There are always those warriors for whom the music of war drowns out all other voices, including the one of reason."

"Yes," I murmured. "That sounds surprisingly accurate."

She nodded, as if she'd known all along exactly all of my fears and failings. The Masters could take lessons from her.

I closed my eyes again. "Must they stand so close?"

"It is indeed a wonder that our people were defeated by the Jedi if all of them fuss like you."

My eyes snapped open again. "Battle meditation is a talent best used in command. I function best on the bridge of a capitol ship."

The old woman thumped her war staff on the rocky ground. "Use your imagination," she said. "And quit stalling."

"I am not--" Blast it all, she was right. The thought of sinking so deeply into the Force, of opening myself to the possibilities, filled me more with fright than peace.

I knelt down in a meditative pose and began to seek the peace I knew I needed to use my Battlemind. One by one I attempted to shut down my outer senses. I first closed my eyes.

With my eyes closed, the sounds of the area sharpened in stark relief. I heard the whir of speeder bikes, the grind of treaded battle droids, the pitched percussion of blasters and rifles, and even the marching of booted feet over the ground.

I forced the voice in my head to chant the Jedi Code in a mental shout and drown out the noise from afar. I sank deeper, and felt the tremors from the flyovers of fighter craft, and the shake of the ground as some unfortunate triggered the occasional landmine.

I focused on the ebbs and flows of the Force running through the life around me and the tremors faded beneath my notice, taking with them the dry dirt smell of the sunbaked rocks and the moisture on the wind that heralded coming rain. Everything became Force to my awareness.

I opened myself, as I had been taught to do. I reached out to feel the thoughts and impulses of the combatants around me. My Battlemind functioned through visualization--I needed to become aware of the forces, and then enhance the flow of the Force towards my allies, while blocking it from the enemies. It required awareness, yet separation--something I had never found as effortless as it ought to have been to one who had true peace.

I opened myself, and instantly, the feelings of hundreds of sentients slammed into me and through me. So many forbidden emotions I'd found it so easy to shy away from before! Anger, rage, and fear--oh, the fear. The proper means to use my gift was to take that fear and anger and drain it away, to use myself as a conduit and lessen the fear of my allies; to shunt it towards the enemy.

But I remembered all too well the power to be had by feeding on that fear, of turning it back on my allies to allow it to fuel them into a frenzy. To fire that anger until it became a forged blade of destruction. I should visualize sharp senses, enhanced instincts, heightened awareness for our side, and slowed reactions, dulled senses, for theirs. I tried. But the visions slipped through my mental fingers like water, leaving instead visions of clashing warriors in bloody skirmishes, and my heart beat faster at the notion.

The Dark side loomed like the rock overhang, breathing down my neck, eager for blood and death, no matter whose.

I pushed the images away, a silent whimper locked in my throat. How could I find that detachment that I needed? How could I use the Force to clear the heads of my allies when I couldn't even clear my own?

I felt my attention being pulled this way and that; bloodlust and fury fighting for the cracks in my serenity that widened constantly. And frustration, that insidious, nagging little weakness, left little traps in my own mind. . Doubts dug into me, bringing my attention away from the battle and back into my own self. I shrank away from the doubts and lost the connection with the battle. I chased the illusion of serenity futilely, growing more desperate by the moment.

"Well, well, well. I've heard so many great things about the savior of the Republic. But none of them included anything about such an avant-garde fashion sense."

I jolted out of the meditation abruptly, to the sight of a ginger-haired woman twice my age picking her way over the rocks towards me. A small, sleek starfighter had somehow landed without my sensing its presence. Beside me, Nuana bristled and the two young Mandalorians pointed their weapons.

"Oh, put those away," she said, pushing past them to stand face-to-face with Nuana. "You'll be getting no sport from me today," she addressed the two young men, "unless it's the kind that happens out of armor, and by the looks of you, you're too young for me to even consider."

In spite of the bravado, the pilot's jumpsuit, and her lack of obvious armament, there was an unmistakable aura of the Force surrounding this woman. "Stand down," I said quietly. "This woman is a Jedi."

"Sunrider's the name," she said cheerfully. "Perhaps you've heard of me?"

I blinked. "Nom--Vima?" Of course she couldn't be Nomi. Nomi had died when I was a young girl.

"Jedi or no," Zareb said. "We have our orders and we will not fail."

She heaved a great, gusty sigh. "Yes, yes, how very Mandalorian of you." To Nuana, she said, "Clanmother, you've raised them brave. Did you raise them stupid as well?"

This is it, I thought miserably. Mandalorians. Republic. Jedi. All at each other's throats again.

Nuana spat on the ground. "I guess we'll have to see about that," she said. "Boys, what will you do? Do you honor your word to Ordo, and challenge she who called Ulic Qel-Droma 'Master?' "

Zareb moved forward belligerently. "I have chosen to obey Ordo, and I will keep my word!"

But young Faris lowered his weapon. "Clanmother, why must we choose? Ordo's lady is unthreatened by the Jedi Sunrider."

Vima Sunrider threw back her head and laughed. "No wonder you're still alive. The Jedi could take a few lessons from you, Clanmother. Now young Shan, you might want to close your mouth before the local wildlife begins nesting in it."

Belatedly, I realized she was right and closed my mouth with an audible click of my teeth. I couldn't help standing in awe of the Jedi Master who stood before me. Vima Sunrider had sought her own Master as a very young teenager, chose an unconventional one at that, and proved to be a loud voice among the Jedi back on Coruscant, if secondhand news could be believed.

I felt a bit awed by her presence. She found this amusing. "It's me who should be awed. You should hear the rumors flying around the galaxy about you."

"Force help us all," I muttered. "I don't believe I want to know what you've heard."

"You're my mother reincarnated," she said, ticking off one finger. "You're the sole savior of the Republic. You're a traitorous bitch who sold us all out for power. You're Malak's lover and bearing his love child. You're descended from pit rancors and possessed by Sith ghosts, your measurements are--"

"Please stop." I held up a hand.

"Oh, I haven't gotten to the good ones yet," she said. "Yours is the most downloaded image off the HoloNet, if you get my meaning."

I blinked. "So there _is_ a list," I muttered. Men are all pigs.

She laughed, another rich, ringing sound. "There's always a list, my dear."

"But--what are you doing here?" I said, my bewilderment complete.

"Oh, you're of very significant interest to the Jedi Council."

"I know," I said. "Masters Vrook and Vandar will be here--"

"I don't mean them," she snapped, suddenly harsh. "I mean the real Jedi Council. Late of Ossus? Coruscant? Oh--I knew training clans were an awful idea." She threw up her hands.

I stared at her quizzically. For a Jedi Master, Vima Sunrider was not the picture of serenity the other masters had been. I was interrupted from questioning her on her appalling lack of discipline and serenity by the arrival of two more sleek starfighters and a larger transport I recognized as one of the Dantooine Enclave's supply and transport shuttles. "Well, well, well," Vima muttered as the loading ramp descended from the ship's belly.

Several figures stood in the ship's maw. Two I recognized instantly--those of Masters Vrook and Vandar. I thought I would be immensely relieved to see them, but I found myself instead quite wary.

Vrook wasted no time in approaching us. The two Mandalorian youths stood in his path and he held up his hands and parted them in the air, sending the young men stumbling down onto their rumps. I gaped in amazed shock. I'd never seen the Master so careless with others before.

"Vima Sunrider," he said coolly. "I should have expected you'd turn up here sooner or later."

The ginger-haired master crossed her arms over her ample chest. "The Temple on Coruscant had a few questions they wanted answered," she said. "And I think I have a right to finally meet the only other Jedi currently in existence who has my mother's gift." Without warning, Vima turned to me. "Tell me, Bastila, how much of my family history did they teach you?"

I blinked in shock. "I--er..." Much of Nomi Sunrider's exploits had been drilled into all the apprentices in my class, and after I manifested my battlemind, I'd grown particularly interested in the Exar Kun war and Nomi's part in it. But it all seemed...historic to me. Now I was ashamed to realize that what was history for me--a curious academic exercise--was this woman's family life.

"Rhetorical question." She dismissed me with a wave of her hand. "They left out all the juicy parts, I'm sure of it."

"Vima Sunrider," Master Vandar said. "Accomplish nothing, this will. A point, you must have, beyond that of vexing Master Vrook."

Vima exhaled. "That was a side perk," she said, sotto voce. Master Vandar's ears curled downwards. "The Council on Coruscant wants to determine whether or not to continue the charter for your training enclave, given the fact that your star pupil took such a spectacular swan dive down into the Dark side." She turned to the elderly human Master. "Your training methods are on trial, and I am judge, jury, and advocate."

Master Vrook paled. Master Vandar's ears turned further downward, if that was even possible. But still not as low as my own dropped jaw.


	107. Grand Entrance

Grand Entrance

Revan

I didn't return to the cockpit once our cargo of tick-fluff had dispersed into the atmosphere behind us. I watched from the aft viewport of the cargo hold. Billions of miniscule, crystalline flakes spun out behind us like diamond dust in our wake, flung far and wide by the wind of our passing, creating a cloud-barrier that was as deadly as it was insubstantial to anyone following us.

I watched as a light fighter, trailing us and hoping for a shot, got caught up in it. _Sensors going haywire_, I thought as the fighter suddenly wobbled in its flightpath, then veered off at an oblique vector before falling into a flat spin back towards the deepness of space, leaving little ionized trails of electricity as his systems shorted out from the fluff.

Some poor bastard, just trying to make a buck. Like I used to be, once upon a time that didn't exist. I reached up and played with the braids in my topknot. By now, they'd gone days without Juhani's rebraiding and were as scraggly as a Wookiee's hindquarter fur.

What am I doing here? I directed the question to the fluff-cloud, since that seemed the likeliest place I'd find an answer. Hiding, I admitted to myself. I didn't want to see Bastila. I don't want to look into her eyes and see the reality of the resentment there. And I sure as hell don't want to get into a fistfight with Canderous, no matter how good it would feel to kick someone's ass right now. Or at least, have existence narrowed down to the kick and the ass, never mind who was doing what to whom.

"You remake the universe according to your own will," Juhani accused me the other day. She got it half right. Revan can remake the universe, but Noura doesn't do such a hot job of remaking people. I wanted to help heal Bastila, make her whole again, before the bond sucked us both down the drain after each other. But how can you be the solution when you're the problem?

My maudlin musings got put on hold when the cargo bay door opened. "There you are," Mission said. To my surprise, when I turned, Dustil was with her. "We want you to hear our plan out," she said.

"Your plan?" I shook my head. "This going to be as good an idea as the stunt you pulled outside the enclave?"

"Better," Mission said, taking my arm. "I've got stuff in my pack we'll need."

I let her lead me, Dustil trailing quietly behind, until we came to the bunkroom I'd awakened in earlier. Once inside, the three of us cramped in the small space, she palmed the door shut. "Just in case," she said. Dustil glanced darkly at the closed door.

"All right, you two," I said. "If we're done playing spies?" Varenna Aktil was a smart and savvy politician. She no doubt had this and every other area of her ship bugged anyway.

"I want to be Darth Revan," Dustil said.

"Kid, we all have goals and aspirations, but let me tell you, as someone who's already done the gig--"

"Stop fooling around, Noura," Mission said. "This is a good idea, that's really being spoiled by your boyfriend's kid's lack of communication skills. Here's what we do--we let Dustil go be Darth Revan for the masses."

"So your aim is to be torn limb from limb?" I asked him not quite believing what I heard. "Your father would be so proud."

Dustil folded his arms. "It's a distract and redirect tactic," he said, shooting Mission a dirty look. "Do you really think I'd stand still long enough for them to start tearing my limbs? The plan is to make an appearance wearing the robe and mask, and lead them away from you."

"And Canderous and Bastila," Mission interjected. "You need time to do your duel thing without interference, and we all need to shake these mercs off our tails." Illustrating her point, she glanced behind her to the tiny viewport where we could no longer see any land features for the thickness of the clouds. Lightning periodically danced across the curves of the great thunderheads.

"As soon as I lead the chase far enough away, I can find cover and shuck the costume."

I looked from Mission to Dustil and back again. "You want to do this?" I said to him.

Carth's son nodded. "It would solve a lot of problems with one stroke."

"And create how many more?" I asked. "That's another confirmed sighting of Darth Revan."

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it," Mission said.

Over the ship's comm, Ambassador Aktil announced that we should strap in and prepare to land. Mission and I buckled into jump seats while Dustil webbed himself into a bunk.

"Listen," he said, putting his hands behind his head. "I figure I owe you one...two...maybe a hundred or so. You saved my dad, you saved me from the Sith, and you saved us both again in that jungle. People are putting two and two together and neither one of us is going to benefit from their ability to count to four. The least I can do is give you half a chance to make a clean getaway."

_You manipulate people to your own will_, Bastila accused me in the dream we shared. Mission had yelled at me, _why can't you ever let someone else help?_ Noura was supposed to be the hero. Revan might be the Sith Lord, but Noura was supposed to be the opposite--the good girl. The savior to the scourge. I sighed. "Carth will pitch a fit if he catches you putting yourself in danger," I said, looking directly at Dustil.

His jaw tightened. "It's not his decision to make. And come to think of it," he said, "It isn't yours, either."

_The nerve of young people today_, I thought, channeling Jolee. "You're already a wanted man, and the only thing keeping your ass out of the local lock-up is the Jedi."

Dustil rubbed the back of his neck. The gravity gambols overcompensated while Carth executed a landing maneuver and we all shifted at the sudden heaviness that bore down on us. "Provincial prisons aren't a threat to me," he said, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the bunk webbing.

"You and I both know that the Jedi are only so much cushion, and even they don't come without a price."

"I have bigger problems to worry about than small-time sector cops," Dustil said.

"Does that include your master?" I asked.

Dustil's face clouded over. "That's one of my bigger problems. Master Nayal doesn't like my plan, but he's an old-school Master, one who's willing to let me dig my own grave, if that's the case."

I closed my eyes. The two of them fell silent, and I thought of how far we'd all come. And how much we'd stayed the same. Trust Mission to brazen it out, as if a simple bait-and-switch would work with the whole galaxy as the mark. And Dustil as stubborn as his father ever was.

The ship waffled a bit as we reached the heaviest portion of the storm clouds. I knew Carth could handle atmospheric flying, but this went above and beyond the call of duty. If we lived through this, I'd have to remember to thank him.

"Hey Noura," Mission said. "Would you have a problem with Dustil's plan if Dustil wasn't the one being Darth Revan in your place?" Gravity returned to normal and her head-tails floated upwards.

"What kind of a question is that?" I asked. "I wouldn't put any of you in that kind of danger."

"Yes you would," she said flatly, folding her arms. "You wouldn't think twice about letting Carth or Canderous or Juhani do it."

"Yes I would!" I repeated, feeling like a monkey-lizard, and lying through my teeth.

"You trust them," she said, blue brow furrowed. "You trust that they won't get in over their heads, and that they'll be able to pull it off. All we want to give you is a chance to get out of the worst of the mess. You'd do the same for any of us."

Angry flashes of lightning zigzagged along our sides and I mimicked the hot, tense anticipation of it. Canderous was expecting a fight with Revan, I realized. Did he expect a fight with _Darth_ Revan? Maybe he ought to get one.

I thought back to the dream I shared with Bastila. My gut clenched when I realized a small detail she'd left out. A significant detail in my mind. I sighed. "You're right. It's your choice." They wanted to give me a chance. And I would have done the same for any of the crew, including and especially Bastila.

"Hey Beautiful," Carth's voice came over the comm to the bunk room. "You ready for this?"

"No I'm not ready for this," I muttered. "But will that stop it from happening?" Outside the viewport, the clouds ended abruptly, opening onto a wide plain covered with beings in military formation, and the ships that had discharged them. "Oh look," I said, "It's the welcoming committee." To Carth, I said, "Why don't we just land in the middle of it and save everybody the walk. Make it obvious, too," I said, with a glance towards Dustil. "If they want Darth Revan, they should get the whole show.

The landscape tilted as Carth executed a vertical loop that was a little necessary and a lot of grandstanding. I felt the thump as we touched ground and heard the rumble of feet moving around as people prepared to exit the ship. Carth came over the comm again. "Everybody get ready for battle with whatever you can find. Our friend the ambassador has been kind enough to loan us the use of her house. Least we can do is clean out the pests for her."

I unstrapped myself from the jump seat. "Mission, will you go and collect up Juhani? Make sure you get some battle stimulants for Dustil. He'll need 'em if he's going to go a few rounds as Darth Revan. Wouldn't want you running out of steam in the middle of a chase."

Mission nodded and left us alone. "The robe's in the pack, with the mask and all that."

I turned to Dustil. "You're old enough to make your own decisions, and if you really want to do this, then there's not much I can do about it."

"No," he said, reaching for the robe. "Can I borrow your stealth emitter until I'm far enough into the crowd to make an appearance?"

"Sure. But it's a little cranky, so don't leave it on for too long," I said. "It's in the footlocker."

He turned towards the footlocker and bent down to open it. I took my lightsaber in my hand and tested the heft. Before I could think about it, and therefore project my intentions, I slid up behind him and brought the hilt of the saber down on the back of his skull.

He crumpled head first into the footlocker. I levered his upper body out of my equipment and muscled his unresisting bulk onto the floor against the wall. "Sweet dreams, little prince," I muttered, snagging the black robe and mask from Mission's pack. "And thanks for the stealth emitter idea." I donned the robes of Darth Revan and slid the cold mask over my face, ignoring the sudden stabs of pain lancing into my skull from the deathlike chill of the metal.

Yet once the mask was on and my breath warmed it, it began to feel almost...natural. Normal, not to see the edges of the room outside the eyeholes. Normal to rely on the Force to sense where my eyes could no longer see. Normal to hear my own righteous breath echoing around the metal.

I grabbed my cranky stealth emitter and strode from the room without a backward glance. See, I've stayed the same, too. I still have to fix the galaxy the way I think it ought to be. If anybody's going to play the part of Darth Revan, it's going to be me.


	108. Out of the Frying Pan

Out of the Frying Pan

Mission

_Noura would kill me if she knew I was doing this. But Noura's not here_. Presumably, she and Dustil were still playing around with the Darth Revan getup. Mission stood at the top of the landing ramp of the Mirialis and activated her stealth belt. This one, borrowed from Juhani, actually worked without zapping her in the gut. A small thing, but she'd take it.

"Stay close to me," Juhani murmured, her fur rippling in waves as the creamy color took on more of a dun appearance to match the dirt outside the ship.

"This doesn't look like so many," Mission said, peering around the back of the ship's landing struts at the line of mercenary forces in front of them.

Juhani's fur bristled along the back of her neck. "They are not our target. Our target is over there." She pointed to the right of the main cluster of sentients, where a blocky, old-fashioned looking transport had just put down. "We neutralize the reinforcements."

"Just us two, huh?" Mission said wryly. Yet she wasn't totally unhappy about the situation. The comforting weight of a blaster rifle resting in her arms brought her back to what felt like a simpler time--like Noura had said, the bad guys were easier to find when they were the ones shooting at you. _And there's no Borx in sight_. Somebody like Borx would wait until the fighting was over to slither out of his hole and start looting the bodies.

"A small force, using guile and stealth, has a better chance at getting where the enemy doesn't want them to go," Juhani said.

"Right," Mission replied grimly. "But what if they're looking right at us?"

"It means we're going the right direction." Juhani turned and gave her a quick, feral grin. "Stay close, but don't engage unless you are forced to. You have the mines?"

Mission patted the string of mines hooked to her belt. "Flash, plasma, and frag."

Juhani nodded. "Good. I will clear the path for you. Set the mines around that transport's landing area. Take care not to be seen."

"Gotcha. Do we know who they are?"

Juhani's topknot twitched. "I do. But I do not know who they work for. I am not taking chances."

"Well?" Mission put a hand on her hip, waiting.

The Cathar didn't turn around. "That's a MandalMotors transport. An older model, but just as full of Mandalorians."

"Great," Mission muttered, remembering Dantooine, and Kashyyyk, and the Rakata homeworld. "What a bunch of party poopers."

"Set your mines carefully," Juhani said. "And activate your personal shields. Let's go."

A large cluster of enemy troops blocked the line between them and the transport. She didn't understand how it could be much of a battle when it was Canderous and Bastila versus the entire world. But then, she'd underestimated Canderous's stubbornness before. Her only regret was that she'd be too busy to help Dustil pull off the Darth Revan masquerade. And clobber him if his head got all Sith-y again.

Juhani darted down off the ramp into the knot of the waiting soldiers. She flung up a hand and a Force wave knocked the first few back. Over the sound of blaster rifles being primed, she heard the Cathar speak. "You are in my way," she said, her lilting accent making the words sound more exotic than threatening. "I will give you one chance to get out of it."

Some poor sot made the mistake of shooting. Juhani's blue lightsaber flared to life and she deflected it back into the troops. The shooting began in earnest and Juhani became a blur of blue light and motion. Mission ducked and ran in behind Juhani, careful to avoid the stray limbs of anyone close by. No one detected her, but she did manage to stick out a foot and trip up a Weequay attempting to get around to Juhani's back.

The Cathar flattened another half-dozen with a second Force wave and Mission sidled forward around her. She and Juhani worked through the rear edge of the troops, the Jedi keeping a two-meter dead zone around her and Mission until they were close enough to the transport for Mission to break away. "I'm out," Mission said softly into the commlink clipped to her collar. It was a one-way link, and only a twitch of her Cathar friend's topknot indicated she'd been heard.

She darted out of the clear space and shoved her way through a pair of red-uniformed humans set to scrap with an Aqualish and a white Twi'lek. She scooted free of the scuffle and turned back toward the _Mirialis_ just in time to see the black-robed figure of Darth Revan exit the ship.

The figure ignited twin crimson lightsabers and something turned solid in Mission's stomachs. _That ain't Dustil_, she thought, with a fatalistic certainty that Jolee would have been proud of. Underneath Calo Nord's old blue and white armor, she began to sweat. _Dammit, Noura_, she thought angrily, _you're screwing up a perfectly good plan_.

Deliberately, she turned away from the scene playing out with the Dark Lord. She should have suspected more when Noura capitulated so easily. _I've done what I can_, she thought, and if Noura wanted to own up to being Darth Revan, knowing the kind of trouble it would bring her, then maybe she--maybe she _wanted_ what she got.

The implications of that made her head-tails curl up in corkscrews. She ducked into the shadow of the transport just in time to avoid the descending boarding ramp and pulled free a mine from the string on her belt. As long as they didn't come storming off by the dozens right away, she could slip in a mine here and there, and maybe sniper two or three. She lifted the heavy blaster from its holster and thumbed the safety off.

A helmeted Mandalorian--Juhani had called it right--came down the ramp, lugging a huge weapon and a tripod, but Mission's hand remained still. The warrior moved in a funny way that made Mission pause, and must have dressed in the pitch dark, because their armor obviously fit worse than anything she'd ever seen, and she liked to think she had a lot of experience fitting people into other people's armor, especially herself. But at least she didn't have a huge gut and bandy legs to cover like this one.

Boy, Canderous would have a fit if he saw a fellow Mandalorian this out of shape, she thought, nearly laughing at her big friend's imaginary expression, and almost able to hear the exact words of the long-winded rant about honor and glory and personal care and yadda yadda yadda.

"Teagan!" A voice came from inside the ship, and the warrior turned. "Get back inside, now! Your orders are to stay with the ship!"

The warrior's fists clenched. "I _am_ with the ship! There's no order that says I can't provide cover to combatants!"

Mission's eyes widened at the high pitch of the warrior's voice, even through the helmet speaker. _It's a girl_, she thought, almost laughing out loud and wondering why she was so surprised. After all, little Mandalorians had to come from somewhere, didn't they? Even so, the way Canderous talked, you'd almost think there were no Mandalorian girls, and all the warriors sprung fully formed from out of nowhere, or were grown in tanks like clones.

"You can do it from inside the ship." A second warrior joined the first. This one was taller and definitely male, although from the way his armor hung off him, he was skinnier than Dustil and looked as if he'd blow over in a stiff wind.

The lady warrior rounded on him, using her bulk to push him back up the ramp. "You won't take me out of this battle, Nico. I've a right to be here."

"You don't have the right to put yourself in danger like this," he replied, lifting a gauntleted hand to stroke her helmet. Mission's eyes widened at the gesture. _That doesn't look very Mandalorian_, she thought. "Or our children." Well, that explained the big belly.

The girl, Teagan, lowered her head. "How can you deny me the right to fight at all?" she said angrily.

"I won't let you put yourself or our children in danger," the warrior called Nico repeated firmly. _Aww, that's so sweet_, Mission thought. _Too bad he's going to get his butt kicked for it_. She stuffed the mine back in her pouch. _I'm not blowing up pregnant women_.

"It was me who brought us here, Nicodemus of Ordo," she said. "Never forget that. _I_ found the other ships. _I_ was the one who started us on this quest to find true Mandalorians!" Ordo? Mission put out a hand to the ship's strut to steady herself. _Okay, one more gut blaster like that and I'm gonna need to sit down_.

"And you're no general!"

Mission ducked further behind the strut. "Juhani," she whispered. "Change in plans." The wind picked up once again, bringing with it a distant rumble of thunder. She remembered how clean it smelled on Dantooine when it rained, and wished she were back there for an instant. Back when Noura was just Noura and the rest of them were just...misfits. _Before the whole galaxy watched our every move._

That doesn't mean I can't stay safely back from the melee. I can rear support, I can--"

"Yeah, but how are you going to lie on your belly to fire that gun?" The short warrior looked down at the ordnance pieces in her hands and let them drop to the ground.

"These guys aren't enemies, I don't think," Mission whispered. "I think they're Canderous's relatives!" They sure as Zim sounded like him, anyway.

"Wait--" Teagan held up a hand. "I think we've got company." Mission's stomachs tied in knots. _Oh crap_, she thought.

Nicodemus grabbed his girl and pushed her behind him. "Switch to infrared."

_Oh crap_, Mission thought again. "Juhani," she hissed. "I've been busted!"

"Behind the landing strut! I see the signature."

_I can't hope to beat a Mandalorian_. "Wait!" Mission said and thumbed off her stealth belt. "Don't shoot!" She peeked out from behind the landing strut in time to see the one called Nicodemus of Ordo push his pregnant girl behind him and level a blaster at her.

"Come out slowly. Weapons down and primary appendages where I can see them."

Mission stuck out her hands to either side of the strut and edged forward, letting her blaster rifle dangle loosely from one hand.

The Mandalorian cocked his head to one side. "Who the hell are you?"

As it seemed to be so often in her life, she had nothing but her mouth left. "We're on the same side. I think. I'm with Canderous."

The warrior snorted. "His slave?"

Mission stuck her chin out. "No," she retorted hotly. "His sister."

"Well that would make us very distant cousins, then. And I just don't see a family resemblance."

"Take off your helmet and I'll give you two big whacks on the back of the head. It'll be a start," she shot back. A prickle at the back of her neck warned her that someone else approached. She hoped to no end that it was Juhani, and not more Mandalorians.

The taller warrior motioned up the ramp of the transport. "Inside," he said, waving his blaster. Mission winced, but an aggressive step towards her by the Mandalorian girl made her move. _I don't think I could take a pregnant woman, even in self-defense_.

At the top of the boarding ramp, there was a flurry of activity as warriors mustered into formation. There had to be easily three dozen of them. _Oh crap_, she thought again.

Sergeants ducked between the forming ranks of soldiers, calling out snippets of information. "Wayfarer Two on the ground and deployed to the north." "Ordo warrior located close to Wayfarer One." "Squads A and C, Darth Revan wields two crimson lightsabers, adjust your weapons accordingly--remember, the bounty is higher for her alive."

Her prayers were answered when Juhani materialized at the foot of the ramp. "If these Mandalorians follow the laws of their culture," she said, striding up the ramp, "Then they are simply here to observe the Bridal Duel of one of their own, because they know that interference is punishable by exile or death."

The Mandalorian girl stiffened. "And what would a Cathar know about Mandalorians?" The chatter among the troops slowed as more attention turned to the Cathar woman.

Juhani cocked her head and smiled a rare smile, showing her teeth. _You show 'em, Juhani_, Mission thought. "A Cathar would know the strengths and weaknesses of her opponent." She flipped her tunic back deliberately, just enough to show the polished tube of her lightsaber clipped to her belt. "And a Jedi would know what makes them function."

"We are prepared to battle Jedi," the girl said, sticking the chin of her helmet out.

Juhani smiled again. "You have nothing to fear from me. Unless your intent is to make trouble for Canderous."

The one called Nicodemus straightened. "And what gives a Jedi the right to interfere in matters that are Mandalorian?"

"Every right," Juhani said flatly, "since it's a Jedi whose hand he's dueling for."

If helmets could look surprised, these two would be the demonstration models. Mission almost laughed at the extreme puzzlement emanating from them. Whispers and murmurs traveled their way down the ranks of warriors and sergeants.

Finally, the girl spoke. "Ordo fights for a Jedi?"

Juhani nodded. "Unconventional, I know."

Mission snorted. "That's Canderous," she muttered. With Juhani present, she felt safe enough to turn back to the bigger threat out on the plain and noticed that Darth Noura and her lightsabers were carving a path to the center of the battle. That would be where Canderous was, heavily outnumbered amidst a tightly-packed clump of sentients wearing bright red helmets and armbands. "Juhani," she said, clutching the Cathar's arm, "I think we've got trouble."

The male Mandalorian touched his helmet and looked up. "The little Twi'lek speaks true."

Mission bristled at the "little." _Why do people constantly underestimate me?_ "So this brings us to the really important question," she said out loud. "Are you people here to make trouble for Canderous, or do we let you keep breathing?"

Nicodemus laughed. "You have spent time in the company of Mandalorians."

His girl stepped forward. "We did not come to interfere. We came to witness the Bridal Duel. And to capture a bounty of our own."

"Darth Revan." Mission said. "Get in line."

"Jahuurda the Hutt has offered one million credits for Darth Revan, alive," Teagan said.

Juhani arched an eyebrow. "Jahuurda's own forces are out there in green armor. You'll have to get through them first."

Mission couldn't help but laugh. "HoloNet said earlier that the old slug was offering a million and a half for Bastila. When Noura hears she's going for less than Bastila, she's going to have kinrath pups."

Juhani's face remained carefully neutral. "Neither Revan nor Bastila will be anyone's bounty today. The one you call Darth Revan is Canderous's opponent in the Bridal Duel. She can't be touched until the Duel is over."

"What of the other one, Bastila Shan?"

The giggles came harder now, Mission unable to keep them bubbling up from her throat. "If Canderous has--his way, she'll be--" she said between gasps of laughter, "--Missus Ordo by the end of the day."

Nicodemus removed his helmet and stood in front of Juhani. Mission's eyes widened. _Wow_, she thought. _That's what Canderous looked like pre-geezer_. The young man looked just a little older than Dustil, and his jaw had that same square, block-of-permacrete look that Canderous had. His head-hair stood up just like Canderous's, too, except it was one hundred percent black. "We stand with Canderous of Ordo," he said. "He's my only kinsman."

"Even if he is trying to marry a Jedi," someone muttered.

Mission stepped around him to glare in their general direction. "Shut your airlock about Bastila. She faced down two Sith Lords and walked away. How many of you can say that?"

A mutter ran through the Mandalorians, but nobody spoke up except Juhani. "Mission," she said quietly, then addressed the Mandalorian Nicodemus. "Before the Bridal Duel can begin, we must neutralize the mercenary forces that seek to capture or kill both Revan and Bastila."

The young Ordo warrior smiled. "Leave that to us."


	109. Stormbringer

Stormbringer

Canderous

We met the bulk of the mercenaries on the plains behind the rocks, just as the clouds were beginning to pick up speed. If I'd had time, I would have realized there was something unnatural about how those clouds moved. As it was, I simply stood by my new allies and fired until my fingers were sore, then pulled the twin vibroblades from their sheaths on my back and began hacking away at humans, Rodians, Duros, Klatoonians, anything that leapt in my path.

A knot of mercs surged forward and attempted to flank. One brought a blade-edged boot up and nearly gutted me, but reflexes preternatural even for me had me sucking in and darting back. My vibroblade sliced through his thigh in the next moment, somehow finding and shredding the major artery there. Blood spattered my armor with a wet hiss.

The sun's glare off the armor of the mercs and my fellow Mandalorians faded as the clouds gathered. An enemy vibroblade that found its mark whined, biting into the cortosis of my armor. I kicked out and dislodged it before it could penetrate. I swung the swords until my arms ached, and continued swinging after that. They just kept coming. We were outnumbered at least six to one at the start of the battle, odds I liked for the sheer challenge.

I stabbed and parried, hacked and slashed, and found myself back to back with the red-armored Desh-iret warrior, Artavash. "Ordo!" she shouted. "More kinsmen come!" She paused to point to the west. Two platoons of Mandalorians clashed with the invaders' left flank, evening our odds, more the pity.

"Friends of yours?" I called out.

"Traveling--uggh!--companions, yes," she grunted, pulling her blade out of the chest cavity of an unfortunate Gand.

The clouds overtook us and out of them burst a small sleek-looking freighter that banked sharply upward in a vertical loop and hung, silhouetted by the clouds for a moment before falling back down into a flat spin and setting down right behind the rear line of the mercenary army.

Only Carth could fly a ship like that. The boarding ramp extended downward, and they emerged, blasters blazing. Carth and Mission held heavy blasters, and I noted that he'd shoehorned Little Blue into Calo Nord's old armor. I lost track of them as they plowed into the rear flank of enemies, but next saw the glow of Juhani's lightsaber, and another of a green Twi'lek male's. The two Jedi parted off the ramp and their lightsabers danced and flickered along the other side of the enemy's rear flank.

"Revan comes." I didn't need the Force to tell me that. Thunder rumbled in the sky, warring with the sound of starship engines, and the last bit of direct sunlight vanished, sending an atavistic chill down the back of my neck.

What I saw next had my sword tip dipping in shock. Fortunately, I wasn't alone. I also wasn't wrong when I said, "Revan comes." The black-robed figure stood at the top of the boarding ramp, holding the attention of the armies with the force of her presence alone. Five years rolled off me like water and I was back in the mountains of Malachor V, in a volcanic caldera the natives called "the Crucible."

The hiss of her twin lightsabers coming to life could be heard clearly over the clash of vibroblades and the sharp staccato of blasters from the side columns of the army still fighting. For those of us in the middle corridor, however, activity had ceased. That's the Revan I remember, and that was the Revan standing at the top of the ramp now.

Even as an amnesiac nobody on Taris, the woman knew how to make an entrance.


	110. Into the Fire

Into the Fire

Carth

At first I thought it was Dustil again, and asked myself how my own flesh and blood could be stupid enough to pull the same stunt twice. But then she moved, and I knew it wasn't Dustil under the robes. I'd spent months and planets watching her walk, and eventually fantasizing about it.

But no, it wasn't my son who was pulling the stupid stunt, it was the future second Mrs. Onasi. Never has a Sith Lord needed a spanking more than right now, I thought grumpily. The sounds of melee combat roared in my ears-clashing vibroblades, sounds of discharging blasters and rifles, and not too far off, the sound of several starship engines having overheating issues with silica tick fluff.

Jev Secura jerked me out of my reverie-and out of the way of a blaster cannon shot-with a sharp tug on my arm. "So what's the plan?" he shouted.

Plan? What plan? When did we ever have plans? "Go that way and shoot," I yelled back. "Or swing or whatever."

"You suck at tactics," he retorted.

"What else are we supposed to do? There's too many of them and they're too spread out." All around us, troops mustered. I saw Mandalorians battling in small, orderly units, and sentients with a rainbow of colors and insignia in small clusters.

"Carth." Varenna's voice sounded tinny from my earpiece commlink. "The Jedi Enclave transport is landing. There's an escort of Jedi Starfighters accompanying them-two on the ground, three still providing air support."

"Good," I said. "It's about time they got off their asses and helped clean up this mess. What about that Scarlet Legion ship?"

"It was-" her voice turned incredulous, "-intercepted? Gerda, get me that designation-a what?" Now her voice turned shrill, and I winced at the feedback. Even if she is an experienced politician, you never want a teenager of any species right up against your eardrum.

"What is it?" I said, more to shift the commlink to transmit instead of receive.

"Those idiots in system flight control have let Jahuurda the Hutt's flagship in!"

One Hutt was just as slimy as another to me, but I remembered what Mission had dug up about this particular one. "That's the slug who wants Revan and Bastila."

"Can you think of another reason a Hutt would be in this system?" Well, at least she wasn't shrieking.

"He wants your Jedi bad," she said.

"His forces are here," I pointed out. "But for the old slime-trail himself to show...that doesn't bode well."

Beside me, Jev Secura tugged my sleeve. "Problems in front of you now, hairy-head. Gossip later."

I scanned the plain. The central part of the battle was clustered a little to the north of the Mirialis, but the edges of the mercenary forces spread and scattered and I could see them making for the North, aiming to cut off the few friendlies I could detect, mostly by the occasional sound of Canderous's huge weapon. "We need to stop them." I pointed to the edge of the flanking column. "But how?"

"Just the two of us?" Jev asked skeptically.

I turned to glare at him. "If necessary." I caught sight of the two crimson lightsabers flashing in the central column and cringed. Revan, what the hell are you doing? I thought of her too-bright smile back in the cockpit and the fatalistic undercurrent to her voice. They all want Darth Revan, don't they?

I started off on an intercept course with the flank. I'd shoot every one of them myself if necessary. But Jev's hand on my arm again stopped me. "Hey stupid," he said. "Don't make things more complicated than they already are."

Before I could glare at him long enough to get my arm up to sock him, he swung me around to face what I hadn't noticed before. Half a dozen speeder bikes just looking for riders. "Maybe you're not useless after all," I muttered. "Make for the Mandalorians," I said, climbing onto the bike.

The bike kicked into motion between my legs. And I remembered why I like flying starships. The bike wobbled beneath me, the repulsors sliding unevenly over the ground and the Mandalorians filing in ranks of five out of the transport growing ever closer. With one shaky hand, I lifted my blaster into firing range. "Varenna, I'm heading off this contingent of Mandies. Use the ship's turret guns to back me up, but be careful." I might be signing my own death warrant asking a fifteen year old mermaid to aim ship guns from behind me, but taking on three dozen Mandalorians by myself wasn't exactly the recipe for long life and health either.

"Will do, Command-er, hang on."

What else am I supposed to be doing, I thought sourly as the bike dipped thanks to a muscle spasm in my left arm. The front line of Mandalorians filed neatly into a formation and raised grenade launchers with all the precision of a Coruscanti honor guard's extended formal salute. My jaw set, but I wobbled too much on the bike, and what could one man do against that many? If I were a Jedi, maybe, I thought. But I'm no Jedi. The Jedi is behind me, if she's even still a Jedi.

The grenade launchers fired in unison into the left column of mercenary troops. Explosions cut holes in the mass marching towards Canderous and Revan and the mess they were embroiled in. The second line fanned out around the grenade launchers and began melee with the sections of column broken out by the grenades.

"You might wanna make friends with the Mandies, Carth," Varenna's voice said in my ear. Of course that was what a politician would say, I thought grumpily. "Their comm chatter indicates that they're not hostiles. They're here for Ordo. Relatives of his?"

"Can't be," I said. "Canderous was the last of his clan. The rest of them died at Malachor V when Mandalore fell to Revan." Canderous never wasted the chance to brag about that fact.

But if this new crew was fighting our known enemies, then they were our friends until proven otherwise. I turned the bike towards the column and found myself providing cover for seven Mandalorians with an assortment of vibroblades and heavy blasters. I ditched the bike as soon as I could and rolled into line with them.

The nearest one turned a helmeted head towards me. Seeing my blaster pointed at his enemy, he shrugged and turned back to the fray. Wow, I thought. That was remarkably...anti-climactic.

Or maybe I was just getting used to not knowing who the enemy was.


	111. Assessment

Assessment

Bastila

"Let me understand this," I said, my voice shaking. "You're going to shut down the enclave?"

Vima looked me up and down. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

"But--" I stuttered.

"Raised and rehabbed by their hand," she said. "Let's see how much of a lesson you've learned."

Panic seized me. I looked to the Masters for guidance. Vrook lowered his head and turned slightly away from me.

"That's one strike," Vima said quietly. "You should know better than to look for answers anywhere but in the Force."

"I was _not_ looking for answers!" I said hotly, lying through my teeth. A small atmospheric craft passed over our heads, reminding me that we weren't the only ones on the planet. "I came back here to find some peace for my Battlemind. There's an unbalanced battle going on over there." I waved my hand in the direction of the clouds.

"Yes," Vima said, "I saw it. And are you adding your talents to the mix because it's unfair, or because you want one side to defeat the other?"

"What kind of a question is that?" I demanded, frustrated, and knowing my behavior was becoming as appalling as Noura's. I could blame the bond, but in my heart, I knew I had reached a wall. "I want it to end quickly, decisively, and with a minimum of bloodshed."

Her eyes narrowed. "You feel a bit much over his well-being, I sense, for a Jedi."

My hands curled into fists. "Perhaps I do," I said, my voice catching. "I can't help my feelings."

She glanced over her shoulder towards the masters and a wry smile twisted her lips. "Score one. At least you finally admit you have them," she said, taking my arm. She peered up into the sky. "Come this way. I don't have my mother's gift, but I can still show you a few tricks." She led me under the overhang and sat down, patting the ground next to her. "Mama often spoke of being overwhelmed in her early efforts to use Battle Meditation with Master Thon."

I nodded. "It's disorienting, going from a single mindview to...hundreds all at once."

"Mother developed a coping mechanism to ease into it. Would you like to try it?"

I eyed her warily. "Is this a trick or a test?" I asked.

She regarded me steadily. "No. Like you said, this needs to end quickly. Now let's begin." She closed her eyes. I did the same. "Mother eased the disorientation using two main mechanisms. The first was something physical."

Something thudded into my lap, startling me. I opened my eyes to see a fist-sized rock had landed on the long cut my leg had taken from the rockslide earlier. Vima still sat across from me, eyes closed in meditation, deep and even breaths rising and falling from her chest. "Pick it up and hold onto it. That tells you where you are. And close your eyes." I did as instructed, curling my fingers around the rock. It was smooth, but I could feel a depression on it that if I turned it in my hands, made a perfect place for my thumb to rest.

Vima's musical voice lulled me into a lightly meditative state. "Now when you enter the battle consciousness--that Force in the immediate area around the battle--enter slowly."

"How?" I asked.

"One mind at a time," she said. "Mother said it 'feels' more like using persuasion than battlemind. Try it with me, first. Put your focus on me and guide my hands to my lightsaber."

I reached out tentatively. Instead of opening myself, I put out my own will. The disjointed sensation of being in two places at once threw me, but I was able to use my will to nudge her hand in the direction of her belt. "It's amazing," I said. "I don't feel--" _the anger_, "--the disorientation."

"There is an aspect of Battlemind that is little-explored. The effects it has on a single being, rather than entire armies. Master Odan-Urr stopped teaching the fine work after my mother..." she broke off. "There was too much chance for abuse."

"Then do not speak of it to me," I said.

"Of course not," she said calmly. "Now try to stop me from putting my lightsaber back on my belt. Let us determine if you can influence someone against their will."

I opened my mind to her, ready to visualize my will over hers. I fixed the image in my mind and touched hers.

Instead of battling her will, I was assaulted with images, feelings, sensations that were not my own. I clutched the rock and a low moan escaped me. Vima's will overrode my own, shoving information into my brain. The Force, a rainbow of sound and energy, pulsing and alive, flowing through everything. A column of light, bleeding from the colors, slicing through the rainbows and sounds, enveloping a figure in white and silence. The column shrinking, molding into the figure's body. The white ebbing back into the rainbow hues. The maelstrom quieting, and a bubble of silence surrounding the figure.

I wanted to push her out, get her out of my head. But the shock and anger I felt at the violation of my mind was not the way to do it. Instead, I wrapped myself in my own mind, as I had done in the jungle, shrinking down to the mind-size of a tiny creature.

My eyes snapped open and Vima knelt over me, peering down. I rolled away and came up in a crouch. "How dare you!" I said, my limbs shaking with sudden fury at the violation. How easy the temptation to unleash a blast of Force lightning. Yet my hands stayed where they were, a testament to my willpower.

She cocked her head at me. "Well now, this is interesting." She turned her head away. "Vrook, I can only assume that Master Zhar never got the chance to finish this one's training in resistance to mental attacks. If that's the case, it's a small wonder she fell to the Dark side, and shame on you for sending her on a mission like the Star Forge without that training."

"I received ample training in Jedi defenses," I said, still seething. "Both by the Masters and on the job." I drew myself up. "I kept the secret of Revan's identity from her for months, and that in spite of close quarters and a Force-bond we share to this day." I kept my thoughts about the bond to myself. I revised my earlier opinion of the bond between us being broken. It had just lain dormant for a time while we both drowned in our own misery in the first dark days after the Star Forge.

I blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the knowledge I'd received from her. "What have you done to me?" I hissed.

She leaned towards me and winked conspiratorially, looking for all the world like she wanted to be my sister. I leaned away and frowned. "Think of it as a tool you should have been given a while ago," she whispered.

Heedless of the bad impression I might be making on the Masters, I set my teeth. "You are no Jedi Master, madam. How dare you call yourself such!"

"And you're a privileged little twit until you've proven otherwise," she shot back.

My hands clenched into fists so tight that I broke the skin of my palms with my fingernails. _No...she won't get me that way_, I thought. Instead I turned to the Masters. "With your permission, I would like to continue my Battle Meditation--" I shot a pointed look at Vima Sunrider, "--unmolested."

She sprang to her feet. "Congratulations, Vrook. You've trained quite the pill." She dusted off her rear end, then turned away. I felt an actual tick begin in my jaw, and realized the rock was still in my hand. Without thinking, I felt my hand pull back.

No. I was already in enough trouble with the Masters. I sneaked a look at Vandar and saw him eyeing me, those wise, owlish eyes regarding me steadily. I dropped the rock back onto the ground. "I wasn't really going to do it," I said crossly.

"Think about it, you did," Vandar said, his ears curling up.

I shrugged. I hoped the old Master couldn't read my mind and find out the other things I'd thought about but didn't do. Or the ones I thought about and actually did, last night being one of them.

"Interfere, we will not," Vandar muttered on his way past me. I blinked twice. What did that mean? That the Masters would leave me to Vima Sunrider's whims? That the Jedi would not fight against the mercenaries that wanted me dead or alive? Or that he would look the other way while I threw the rock at Vima's head?

I picked the rock back up and closed my eyes. I searched for and found a mind in the battle. A mind whose patterns were familiar enough for me to almost smile as I touched it. I could not read thoughts, as such, but I could perceive them as a tangled skein of light-threads, colored with emotions. I exerted my will and shook the threads out more evenly, sharpening the colors. I could taste anger, rage, anticipation, glee of the unholy kind that only Canderous in a battle could have. But I tasted them as distant echoes. My own heart filled with giddy relief at the realization that I wasn't tempted to call on my own emotions.

From there, I stretched out to touch more minds, until I could finally sense the entity that was the battle. I skipped from mind to mind, shaking out skeins of thought and sharpening them. Aims became more sure, feet more nimble, reflexes slightly faster. Now came the real test.

I touched the minds of the enemy. Greed, lust, rage...all emotions I'd felt from the minds of my allies. Now directed at me. A thirst for vengeance came from some, but from others, the greed overrode all other emotions. I used my will to let the doubt and fear rise in me, then pushed it down the pipeline created by the Force into the minds of the enemy.

As I shunted the negative emotions--fear, confusion, anger--I felt them. Felt them pass through me, sharpening my own senses and awareness with their intensity. I could jump into them and fuel them, push my own anger and fear into the mix. No. I searched for and located other feelings--a sense of balance, quick anticipation, inspiration. I pulled them away from the enemy minds, sapping wills and dulling wits as I moved from mind to mind.

"That's enough, I think." Vima Sunrider's voice in my ear startled me. "Now sense the battle."

In spite of her, I obeyed, rationalizing that I'd get to slap her that much faster if I did as she bid. Like catching dye in water, I nudged the ebbs and flows of the current of battle. I can do this, a small voice confirmed to me. I felt the Force flow through me and out into the greater current. Relief buoyed me, kept me from the desire to fling myself into the middle of it.

The ebbs became greater and longer than the surges. "Pull back carefully. Gently. Pick a single mind to ease the transition." Vima Sunrider's voice became a comfort. An anchor. I returned to my favorite single mind, and for an instant I could see through his eyes. What I saw shocked me.

A figure robed in black, crimson lightsabers humming in each hand, striding towards him. _Revan comes..._

"No!" I said out loud, and returned to myself with a jolt. I jumped to my feet, shaking off Vima's steadying hand. "They're starting," I said. "I have to go there." I ran for the boulders separating us from the plain of battle, and as I ran, I tested the bond between myself and Revan. _Where are you?_ I thought, and found her, seething and arrogant--as arrogant as a Sith Lord.

_You can't fool me_, I thought again as I delved into the arrogance and found underneath the hurt and the fear. _I know you, Revan. I may not have a clue about myself, but I know you_.

No matter what the Masters said or did or ordered me to do after the duel, while it went on, I owed it to Canderous to be there, and be there, I would. And perhaps I owed it to Revan, too, if for nothing else than to keep her from traveling down the dark path she may well have stepped in.


	112. Duel

A/N: Well, folks-this is it. For really real this time. At the end, you'll find some Author's Notes on the story, my research into creating some of the unique elements, and commentary on the story process in general. It's been a hell of a ride, folks.

In the meantime, where would I be without reviewers? Thanks go to maddaboutjew, snackfiend101, Savvy Lass, Thylja, ether-fanfic, plutospawn, Anonymous-cat (a few times over g ), Morten Bach, and Menolly Onasi. Kosiah-yes, Vima Sunrider appears in the Tales of the Jedi comics published by Dark Horse. The Sunrider clan and its history defy a lot of the setup given in KOTOR (and even more in KOTOR2, but no spoilers here-I'll take it to the boards), but I have a weakness for quirky characters, and if anyone's going to be a little loose in the screws, it's going to be a Sunrider. ;) VMorticia-thanks for the nice, meaty review. The Mirialis is YV-666 because that's the type of ship it is, as found in the Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels-it's a lighter Corellian freighter, but built along the same lines as the Millenium Falcon and the Ebon Hawk.

Special thanks to Intrepid and Vyperhand, who either reviewed or brainstormed with me through some of this. It was not easy to write the ending for this, as there were a lot of loose ends to tie it up. But once again, here's to hoping I've done the characters justice.

Duel

Canderous

The crimson light-blades held perfectly still, and I could see clearly, even from dozens of meters away, the ruddy light reflecting off the metallic mask. The troops closest to her stopped moving and turned to face her as she walked down the boarding ramp. At the bottom, she raised her sabers in a salute directed at me. It didn't matter that I couldn't see her head above the crowd anymore-it was me she was here for, and she who would give me the fight of my life.

The spell broke and the Klatoonian in front of me raised a short sword. I hacked his arm off and threw him screaming to the side. The sea of combatants separating us thinned beneath the crimson flash of her lightsabers. I did my own part to narrow the gap with my blades. Overhead, the clouds roiled, and ships burst forth from them like the rain soon would.

I ignored the air support-many of them seemed to be experiencing trouble keeping themselves in the air-and concentrated on hacking my way towards Revan. I lost track of how many I hacked through-how many landed blows on my armor from a lucky shot, and how many I felled through lucky shots of my own. The smell of blood and dirt mixed with the ozone smell of impending thunderstorm. A body slammed into mine from the side and I turned, blade ready to sever a head.

"Canderous!" I recognized the voice in time to halt my momentum, but not pull my arm back. Carth's blaster came up and my blade sliced off the barrel. On the upside, I didn't slice off his head.

"You owe me for that, you oaf," he yelled. Darth Bandon's armor had taken a beating even worse than what he'd taken in the jungle on Yavin 4, but the Republic man seemed intact otherwise. Cuts lacerated his face and arms underneath the major rents in the armor's hide, and he favored one knee as we moved forward, but otherwise, he appeared merely winded. "You can stop fighting now. We won." He removed his blast helmet and used his armored sleeve to wipe sweat from his forehead.

I looked around. Dead, dying, and wounded littered the plain and small pockets of resistance were all that remained. Bright swaths of blood and fabric were already dulling with a tan-brown coating from the dust kicked up by the wind and activity. "Who are they?" I said, not really caring, but compelled to ask anyway, so I could speak of the battle in tales yet to be told.

"Mostly mercenary companies in the hire of a handful of people who can't get their own girls, so they've come after ours. And one planetary police force that takes moving violations very seriously."

"Moving violations?"

"Yeah. She tried to move their planet out of her way."

His wry words helped the blood haze fade from my eyes, but the crimson glow in the darkening sky didn't entirely disappear. Streaks of light and smoke bisected the low clouds, signs of the ships currently landing beyond the columns of troops finishing their melees. Other ships were offloading passengers in twos and threes, some of them armored, many more in fancy robes. My lip curled upwards. Came for a show, did they?

I looked across the prone forms of a unit of Nikto, half of whom still twitched and groaned, into the inhuman mask of Darth Revan. "It's time," I said.

"It's still her under there," Carth said. "Not Darth Revan."

The Republic man had come to be my friend, ally, and clanbrother, yet he remained obtuse about certain truths the rest of the galaxy had already resolved. "Yes she is," I said. "She's always been Revan. Even when she was Noura."

Carth growled, and turned to watch the approaching dark figure. He shook his head. "That's no Sith Lord you're facing," he said.

"Sith and Jedi are irrelevant," I said. "She's always been just who she is." In spite of the battle bond we had formed, the Republic man would likely never understand how a clan leader trumped those meaningless titles.

"The Jedi Masters are on their way here as we speak. Force knows how many other rubberneckers are showing up along with 'em."

"Just keep them out of my way," I said. Around us, I finally noticed the colored armor of the Mandalorians as they filtered through the remaining sentients still standing. They moved back the bodies of the dead and wounded, clearing a dueling circle in hues of dull silver accented with dark red, blue, green, and purple. "Does she know no weapons are allowed?" My question became rhetorical when her lightsabers retracted back into their hilts.

"She knows the rules as much as any of the rest of us non-Mandalorians," he said, stepping forward as one of the Wayfarers cleared a pile of armor at his feet.

"Then let's get on with it," I said. I turned towards the opposite edge of the circle where the black hood of Revan's cowl bobbed as she made her way to the clearing.

"I love her," Carth said, and put a hand on my forearm. "If you kill her, I'll kill you." His eyes took on that same hard glint as they'd held when he spoke of his traitorous mentor Saul Karath. I believed him. I had no wish to kill Revan, either. I nodded once, though. If I killed Revan, I'd have to kill him, too.

I caught the swirl of robes out of the corner of my eye and saw that the Jedi from Yavin 4 had joined us. The old men, the little green alien, and some new faces. One who stood beside Bastila with a wry smirk on her face. Bastila didn't look as confident. Her face was drawn and pale and she held herself tightly, her posture reflecting her awareness of the presence of her handlers. My own jaw tightened in response. _Back to the tower, Princess?_

The crowd parted like an ocean wave, and Revan stepped into the circle. Thoughts of Carth and Jedi and indeed, anything beyond the moment left my mind. _She looks taller in that getup_. Even her hands were sheathed in black gloves.

She was still a runt, in spite of the power radiating from her, but I only realized that when we were nose to nose in the center of the ring. I could barely see her eyes through the slits in the mask, but they were there, glimmering with anticipation, and glory in battle that I'd only rarely seen from her since meeting her on Taris.

My warrior's heart surged with pride and anticipation and not a little healthy fear. Far from the misfit Jedi I'd taken up arms with in the quest for the Star Forge, this was the Revan who'd fulfilled the wishes of innumerable Mandalorians-the Revan who guaranteed the most glorious of battles, win or lose. I couldn't keep the grin from spreading across my face.

Yet I wasn't here for the pure exhilaration of fighting a good fight. I was here for a purpose, and I had to win. Against the only warrior to have beaten me. The grin faded and my jaw set. In spite of the fact that bridal combat is one of the few instances where combat to the death is expressly forbidden, I knew at that moment that I would win, or I would die trying.

She must have seen something in my eyes, because Revan leaned in close. "I won't hold back if you won't," she said, her hissing whisper echoing through the mask's breathing slit.

I amended my earlier assessment. This wasn't my friend and clanleader Noura, but neither was it the Revan who defeated my people at Malachor V, nor was it the Darth Revan who laid waste to the Republic with Malak at her side and the Star Forge at her back. But it no longer mattered, as I found myself circling her warily, matching her movements with defensive moves of my own.

She moved first, feinting with a move I thought was obvious. Too obvious as her booted foot shot out to sweep my leg. I spun away and brought my forearm down, intending to capture the offending limb. I caught a blow on her shin, but missed my grab and she danced away. But she favored the leg and I took the opportunity for a kick of my own.

She deflected with a fluid spin and I shuffled in close to deliver a punch to her kidneys. Her breath left her in a faint "whuu," but I ended up being too busy counting the stars in front of my eyes when she backfisted me in the nose.

I threw an arm around her neck and attempted a headlock, but she dropped out of my embrace and rolled in the dirt to spring back to her feet out of my reach. As long as she's out of my reach, I can't use my size as an advantage. Yet many of my opponents have met an end through assuming that my size keeps me from moving quickly when I want to. The move would cost me, but I chose to do it anyway and sprang forward to flurry with my fists. I landed a blow that knocked her mask askew before she danced away again.

She flung out a hand and I felt the pressure from a Force wave hit me. I staggered back under its power and used precious seconds to shake off its effects before launching myself at her again, using my forearm to clothesline her. "Cheater," I muttered, knowing full well nothing had ever been said about the Force. It was, after all, an unarmed fighting technique, and by our laws, as long as no weapons were used, it was legal.

Her head jerked back, the loose cowl falling back, revealing her tighter under-hood. I pressed my advantage and shuffled forward to jab her in the stomach while she knocked her mask back into place. Another Force wave flowed out and hit me. This time, my mind and body were prepared and though I stumbled, it broke around me instead of knocking me flat.

I bantha-rushed her, driving my shoulder into her midsection. She grunted with the force of my entire body weight knocking her back. But her small size worked to her advantage and instead of falling, she simply staggered, doubled-over, and brought both fists down on my kidneys.

Breath-stealing pain shot through my midsection and the muscles in my back knotted. I wedged my shoulder in her stomach, wrapped my arms around her waist and straightened. She flipped over my shoulder. I already half-sprung into a backflip when I heard her body hit the ground behind me.

I landed clear of her, but not of the foot she shot up to catch me as I tried to come down on top of her. I heard the crack of my floater ribs under the sole of her boot. I grunted and brought my hands down on her knee, jamming it back. The cartilage under my hands gave a sickening groan. The mask muffled her scream, distorting it into a half-electronic wail.

I missed her other foot as it came around and landed on the side of my head. She put enough force in the kick to knock me sideways and I fell down on one knee. I drew in a breath and sharp stabs told me I probably punctured a lung. Adrenaline rushed, effervescent through my veins, along with the bitter taste at the back of my throat.

Overhead, the thunderheads finally caught up with us and the sky growled. Back on the Ebon Hawk, she once kicked the feelings out of me. I intended to get a little of my own back for that now.

In spite of her injuries, she rose to her feet and began a limping circle around me. I did the same, staring directly into the slit of that inhuman-looking mask. The first, fat drops of rain splattered into the dirt between us, kicking up tiny dirt puffs as they fell. Her gloved fingers were curled into claws and her body vibrated with tension that my own battle-instincts scented like the Ikusai wolves scented their prey. We were each done testing the measure of the other. I let loose a rough war cry and our battle began in earnest.


	113. Downsides

Downsides

Dustil

He came to half in and half out of the cargo crate with a mocking Jedi master in his mind and a blinding headache at the back of his skull. And no pants. "She took my pants, too?" he said out loud.

It proved to be a mistake. "Dustil?"

The door hissed open and there stood the Melodie ambassador-_great, that's all I needed-an interplanetary incident_. Her eyebrows climbed skyward as she took in the tableau.

Dustil heaved himself out of the cargo crate and sat on the floor, testing the back of his head gingerly. His fingers found a lump the size of a crab-nut and about as hard as one. When he probed it, he was rewarded with a flash-headache that had even the Master in his head wincing. So much for sensing danger.

_She meant you no harm. I would have sensed otherwise._

_No harm? What'd'you call this?_

_A reminder to pay better attention next time. And not to turn your back so readily._

"Are you okay?" the Melodie asked. "What happened?"

At least she didn't ask where his pants were.

"And do you require pants?"

Okay, scratch that. "Yes. A disagreement in process, and yes."

"A disagreement in process?"

"Yeah. I had a plan. She had a different one. She won."

The ambassador reached for the medpac on the wall. "Percussively persuasive, huh?"

He fished around in the sparse belongings scattered around the room and found a pair of pants that looked like they might fit. Aktil held his head still while she applied a kolto bandage to his crab-nut with none too gentle fingers. "While you napped, your friends have debarked and are currently in several different locations. Would you like a status report?" Her large brown eyes remained slightly downcast as he got up.

"What?"

She blinked. "I'm just-not used to seeing males of your age with-children's legs. My people grow proper tails by the time they're your age."

He tugged nervously on the hem of his undershorts and frowned. "You were saying about my friends," he said, pulling up the pants, which were too loose, but at least functional. And they stopped her looking at his legs, something he hadn't cared about since that predatory Sith girl Lashowe made it known he was on her short list of fast ways to the top. Once Varenna let his head go, he rummaged around in the footlocker for a weapon and came up with a short vibrosword and a hold-out blaster.

"The commander and your Twi'lek friend are battling with a group of Mandalorians in the eastern column."

"My dad and Mission? Fighting Mandalorians?" That didn't bode well.

"Fighting _with_ them. And no," she said, frowning. "The green male. Secura. Mission is with Juhani engaged with another group of Mandalorians. I received a comm from them several minutes ago, requesting your presence, which is why I came down here. I thought you had gone with the others."

"Some of the _others_ had different ideas," he muttered testily, and made for the door.

"Be careful," she called after him. "Your friends need you in one piece."

_Where do you think to go, apprentice? To Revan? To vent your anger?_

_Maybe_, he couldn't resist sulkily thinking back. But when he exited the ship, amidst Varenna Aktil's caution to be careful, and her gift of several personal shield bracelets, he headed west, towards Mission and Juhani.

He didn't have far to go. The Cathar Jedi wielded a golden-beamed lightsaber and the blade flashed in the rain. The heavy splatter of water on his head cooled some of his anger at Revan. _Bet you're glad to see that, huh?_

_It will not always be raining when you are angry._

_What am I supposed to do, let her get away with smacking me upside the head?_

_In the long run, you suffered no lasting damage. Your head seems to be made of harder stuff._

_Well, I can't very well not feel ticked at her, can I? It festers. I'm a festery kinda guy_. He'd let his resentment for his father fester for years. He took to festering. The Sith had loved that about him.

_You cannot turn off your feelings. You can, however, choose not to let them rule your actions. It is that simple._

_Simple my arse_. He shoved the hold-out into his jacket and flicked on the vibroblade's power cell.

Juhani was in the middle of a cluster of red-armbanded soldiers, systematically cutting them down. Mission was nowhere in sight. Behind her, four Mandalorians were setting up what looked like a surface-to-air laser. Overkill? Maybe not. He reached the line and plunged in, his goal the Cathar.

Just like using a lightsaber, only more unwieldy, less elegant, less effective, and really...not at all like using a lightsaber. The third shot that splashed onto his shields finally convinced him to switch tactics and start using the blade like a blade.

He kicked a short, aggressive human in the crotch and shoved him out of the way, then hacked at the helmet of a taller one. A concussive burn in the region of his kidneys let him know his first shield had died, and he paused to slap the activation stud of the second one.

"Dustil!" Juhani's accented voice cut through the noise.

"Where's Mission?" he shouted. Finally, it seemed he made it close enough to fight alongside of her. He noticed he was pretty useless this close. The mercs seemed to be keeping a perimeter around Juhani, just outside of her blade's deadly range. She was, however, having some success in using their own blaster bolts to take them down.

"Inside the transport," she replied. "There was a problem."

"What kind of problem?" Another shot buzzed his shielding. _Dammit, I can't talk and fight at the same time_.

"Join her. Comm the Jedi transport and get Belaya there!" Her saber spun, deflecting a crimson bolt that would have blinded him, or gone straight through his forehead.

"What about you?"

She paused to glance at him, her yellow eyes shining. She bared her teeth, showing a hint of fang. "I am getting my exercise."

He rolled his eyes. Too much of Revan seemed to rub off onto other people. "Come in when you get bored, then," he said, and darted behind her, heading towards the transport. His kidneys ached, and he'd likely have a hard time peeing for the next week.

_At least you're still alive,_ the master reminded him.

_Am I not entitled to at least a little angst?_ He mentally groused, not really expecting an answer as he dashed up the boarding ramp.

The Mandalorian transport was eerily quiet, save for the percussive thumps of the laser cannon muffled by space-grade durasteel. It took several minutes of searching for him to locate the only life forms present on the ship. He found them in the med-bay, Mission, and a Mandalorian girl-he stopped up short.

The girl was half-in, half-out of the heavy armor that trademarked her people. Her breastplate hung loosely off one shoulder, while Mission worked on the fastenings of the other. What drew him up short was her exposed, distended abdomen, which rippled like the surface of a not-particularly-calm ocean. "You're pregnant," he said.

"Brilliant deduction, genius," Mission retorted. "Come up with that one all by yourself, did you?" She spared him barely a glance. "Help me get her out of this armor."

He approached gingerly. This was so not in his experience. "B-belaya," he said finally, when he got his voice back.

The Mandalorian girl worked at the other fastener and shoved her breastplate in his face. "Take care of that," she said.

He held onto the breastplate like a shield. Mission shook her head. "What about Belaya?" she asked.

"Ju-Juhani said to comm her on the Jedi Transport."

"Of course!" Mission's head-tails curled around her shoulders. "Belaya's a medic, Teagan," she said to the girl. "She's a Jedi healer."

The girl's jaw set. "I don't need anyone," she said. "Mandalorians don't need anyone."

Mission sighed. "She's been like this," the Twi'lek said to him. "Insists she wants to go it alone. It doesn't make sense. I'll go comm the Jedi." She darted out of the room.

"Wait-don't-" _Don't leave me alone with her!_

The girl, Teagan, he guessed, frowned at him. Besides her scowl and rippling belly, she looked to be about his age.

"I don't need anyone. I will not be weak," Teagan said. "I need no assistance."

He wrinkled his nose, then said something he was sure would get his ass kicked. "Yeah, but do you _want_ anybody?"

She scowled again and rubbed her distended abdomen. "I want to walk." She strode towards him and made to pass him. As she came close, her eyes widened and she groaned, reaching out a hand to him. Her fingers dug into his arm and she bent over double.

His heart began to race. "Are you-uh, I mean-" _Mission! Belaya! Anybody! Anybody female, I mean!_

After a minute, she straightened. "You may leave me now," she said. "I'm going to find something to eat."

"Er...I'll come with you," he said, and trailed after her.

Every five minutes or so, she would stop and hold onto a bulkhead, biting her lip and breathing deeply through her nose. The first time she did it, he started forward and she drove her fist out and into his stomach. "Don't come near me," she growled.

After that, he kept his distance and she made her way towards the comm center of the ship. Mission sat at one of the comm stations, swinging the chair back and forth, one leg tucked under her. She was biting her lower lip. "Mission?"

She jerked her head up. "Belaya's on her way. She says to just keep Teagan comfortable and let her do what she wants-short of killing anyone." Almost as an afterthought, Mission looked at the Mandalorian girl. "Are you comfortable?"

"Republics!" Teagan punched the bulkhead, shook her fist, and stomped out the door.

"Ah-er-" Dustil mumbled, wondering if he should go after her.

_Take a lesson, apprentice. What do your instincts tell you?_

_Stay the hell away from crazy women_, he mentally retorted.

_Perhaps instead, consider who this young woman is._

"Should we go after her?" Mission asked, not moving from her chair.

"Be my guest," he said.

She looked down. "You know, on Taris, whenever one of the Bek women was gonna have a baby, I always felt like crying."

He didn't have much of a clue about babies, but still- "I thought they were supposed to be a good thing."

Her head-tails drooped. "Not in the Tarisian Low City." She resumed her single-footed swinging back and forth in the chair. "Kids should grow up in places like Dantooine, with fresh air and sunshine and grasses. They should go to schools and not workhouses." She stared out the viewport. "They should grow up in nice places."

"Like Telos?" he asked, just a little bitterly. Fresh air, sunshine, grasses, schools. Until the Republic failed them.

She shrugged. "I guess there's no place that's really safe. But there were a lot better places to start out than Taris."

He mimicked the shrug. "Probably. In the Sith Academy, I never heard of a girl getting pregnant." He frowned. "Actually kind of surprising considering some of the stuff that went on there."

She shot a glance at him. "I bet there were more than you realize."

"Probably." Now it was his turn to look away. "We had a perfectly capable med center, but people still went into Dreshdae all the time. Some things, you just don't want to tell a Sith doctor." Hells, sometimes, you didn't want anyone to know you even needed a medic. If Belaya had any Sithly inclinations, he'd certainly be in trouble.

Out in the hall, Teagan let out a howl that echoed through the ship. Mission stood up. He thought of the Master's admonishment and held out a hand to stop her. "Leave her be," he said.

"She sounds miserable," Mission protested.

"She's Mandalorian," he said. "Would Canderous want you seeing him like that?"

Mission shivered visibly. "Ew, ew. And ew once again. I've seen too much of Canderous already. Remember on the Hawk when we were going after Noura?"

He winced. "So that was what you saw. Canderous? What, naked?"

She sighed. "Worse."

"There's something worse than Canderous naked?" He asked, thinking of his own experience in learning more about Master Uthar than he ever wanted to know.

Her head-tails curled up in on themselves. "Yeah," she said. "Canderous naked and not alone."

He snorted. "I can guess who else's bare bits you got to see. Infinitely preferable to Canderous." Whatever her taste in old guys, Bastila was hot, you had to admit. Not that he ever would, out loud and in the Mandalorian's range of hearing.

Her head-tails flicked. "From your perspective, maybe."

A proximity sensor blared, thankfully interrupting his disturbing train of thought. "That'll be Belaya," Mission said. "Let's go turn this situation over to her."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, feeling really sincere about it. Mission went to find the Mandalorian girl, and he headed back towards the ramp, too relieved at the arrival of someone in charge.

The Jedi healer came up the ramp at an unhurried pace. Dustil wondered why she wasn't rushing like medics usually did. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Juhani told me what she could."

He closed his eyes for a minute, and tested himself internally. _How do I feel?_ "Pretty okay," he said carefully. "Trying not to think much about it," he added, feeling like he could be honest with his physician. She wasn't a Sith, after all.

"I've been given permission by the Council to go to Coruscant and pursue this," she said. "Sith alchemy is something we are woefully uneducated on, and now that their fleet is gone, it is my fear that the remaining Sith will begin using more subtle methods, including their poisons."

He thought about the Master's presence. "I got a Jedi Master out of it. That's good for something, isn't it?"

She gave him a smile. "Maybe," she said. "But given it's a Sith poison, there's always a downside."

His lips twisted humorlessly. "No free lunches in this galaxy, eh." Tired of talking about himself, he switched the subject. "Didn't you come here for a baby?" The memory of the noises Teagan had made left him feeling a little nauseated. At least Sith poison didn't swell him up and make him utter noises like that.

"Relax," she said, eyeing his expression. "This is a happy occasion, not a funeral."

"Not according to Mission," he said. "And the Mandalorian girl doesn't seem too happy about it either."

She strode past him. "Let's just find our new mom, shall we?"

He led her in the direction of the cursing, which ended in the mess hall, of all places, then stood back and felt himself sag. Belaya was a capable person. A grown-up. Somebody who knew what to do. Funny, how he left the Sith Academy feeling like a man, and now...he was almost sure that he'd give a limb or two to return to five or six years ago, riding his hoverbike in the sun of Telos' primary, mad at his dad because he wouldn't be home for another three months, and listening for his mom to call him when lunch was ready.

He and Mission hung back while Belaya took charge. She asked Teagan a few questions about timing and put her hand on the pregnant girl's stomach. The girl stiffened, and Belaya glanced back at Mission and him, both lurking in the doorway of the mess hall. Teagan paced back and forth around the room,

"You don't really need an audience for this, do you?" Belaya said. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to them. "Why don't you two go find something to do? Make yourselves useful and go to the medlab and sterilize some sheets and blankets. You do know how to do laundry, don't you?"

"We'd love to," Mission said, grabbing his arm and yanking him down the hall.

"Hey!" He jerked his arm away. "What's up with volunteering me for laundry duty?"

She grabbed his arm and pulled again. "I'm just glad to get out of there. Did you really want to be around when it starts getting messy? Besides, she's bound to put us to work, and I'd rather it be outside the blast zone."

"Ugh. Maybe you're right," he said, not willing to envision the specific mechanics of childbirth. Teagan looked about his age-he bet her husband or her boyfriend or whatever probably wasn't much older. He couldn't picture being a father-couldn't even comprehend it. He guessed Mandalorians moved pretty fast-maybe their homeworld had shorter years or something. "Well, let's find those sheets, then."

"Forget that," Mission said. "I've got something else I need to do, and I need your help to do it." She made a left at the next corridor, heading for the comm center instead of the medbay.

Angry blue Twi'lek or angry pregnant Mandalorian? A loud curse chased them further down the hall. _Either way, I lose something_. He followed Mission. Less chance of it being a vital part he'd very much like to keep. "Hey, where's Zaalbar?"

"He's with the Jedi Council. I think they're trying to 'negotiate' with Jahuurda the Hutt about getting the heck out of this system and taking his troops with him." Her tone was careless and wry, but he didn't miss the slight tension in her shoulders. "Actually, that's why I need you."

He'd do a double-take if he thought the situation called for it. But this was Mission, and even if he hadn't blown it on his own, Master Nayal was just itching to say something; he could feel it. "What for?"

"Help me record a holomessage for Big Z. I'm-I don't think I'll have much time to talk to people once the smoke clears." They reached the comm center and Mission began rummaging through containers and drawers. "S'gotta be a holorecorder around here somewhere," she muttered, head-tails twitching back and forth.

He was getting good at guessing her approximate mood from the way her tails moved. Big Z was definitely a hot button for her. "Where are you off to so fast, then?"

She continued rummaging. "I'm leaving with Borx. For Slooka's compound."

_Smack me with a Hutt's tail_. "You're going with that Devaronian creep? A Twi'lek voluntarily going to a Hutt? Did you hit your head or something?" _I have a bad feeling about this_. Not all of it had to do with her running off to a Hutt, either. Jev Secura's remarks earlier added to the sudden churn in his stomach.

_Be careful of how you seek to interfere._ Ha, he thought. Even the Master doesn't sound completely happy about this.

"I got my reasons," she said. "Borx is going to present me as Slooka's next holostar."

"Sure," he said. "Just put on this collar for a few holopics, and ignore the magnetic combination lock that only the Hutt knows the combination to."

"Do I look like I just blew in from the Outer Rim? I got back-up," she retorted.

_You bet your head-tails you do_, he thought. He still had Headmistress-er, Yuthura's private comm-code, and it was about time for another drink in a quiet cantina with the purple Twi'lek who both terrified and fascinated him and every other male of any species to pass through Korriban's halls. He was sure his former headmistress would have a vested interest in keeping another Twi'lek out of Hutt slavery, even if she was bound and determined to get herself into it neck-deep.

"Weren't you gonna help me with this?" she said. "Help doesn't include shooting your yap off." She slammed a drawer. "Hah! Knew they'd have one." She pulled out a small holorecorder and several cubes.

He kept silent for several minutes while she slotted in one of the cubes. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "You're not even saying goodbye?"

"Don't you think I want to?" she said harshly, before her eyes filled with sudden tears and she turned away. "I-I can't. If I look at him or s-smell him," her breath hitched on a sob, "I won't be able to do what I gotta do."

She brought one blue hand up to dash away the sudden tears rolling down her cheeks. The action made him stop wanting to harp on her for making dumb decisions. Wasn't like he hadn't done the same thing several times over. He didn't have a choice at the time. Maybe neither did she, right now. He sighed and slid the holorecorder to the center of the comm station. "Whenever you're ready," he said, making his tone as neutral as possible.

She scrubbed her hands over her face and nodded. He activated the recorder and sat back. She took one deep breath and said, "It's me, Big Z. By the time you get this, I'll be headed for Hutt space and to my new career as a holostar. Listen, buddy-" she leaned forward, closer to the recording lens. Dustil watched her head-tails wave and twist. "_Words can't express_ why I have to go do this, but I know you'll understand. You've got a big destiny in front of you, and you're gonna have your hands full with leading your people, so don't worry about me, okay?" Her forehead furrowed, and a slight sheen of sweat glistened azure on her forehead. He frowned. She sounded wooden. Like his classmates, back when they were all plebes, reciting by rote the Sith code for any upperclassman who stopped them in the hall on a whim.

She leaned back again. "I'm gonna miss you like crazy, ya big furball. But we'll see each other again, I promise." Her head-tails twirled and snapped. "And I'll send holos all the time. Make sure to share them with all our friends. You're my best friend, Big Z, and I know you always-always-" Fresh tears spilled over her cheeks, but she set her mouth and finished in a rush. "saved my head-tails."

She brought her hand up and slashed it across her throat and Dustil stopped the recorder. She covered her face with her other hand and stood for a long moment like that, head bowed, head-tails hanging limply down her back, shoulders shaking with the occasional sob. He didn't go to comfort her, though he wanted to. _We all live with the choices we make_.

"Dustil," she finally said, raising her head from her hands. She took another deep breath. "I-" she looked at the ceiling, then back down, staring at a point on his breastbone. "I still can't stand you for what you did to me in the jungle," she muttered. "I thought I wanted to kill you myself. But I wouldn't-Sith poison-I just can't imagine-I mean, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. I'm so sorry."

He stared back down at her, not really able to summon anything beyond a kind of numb acceptance of being royally screwed both ways by the Force. "That's the Dark Side, Mission. Once you let it in, you can't ever really escape it. You do a little to get by, then a little becomes more, and pretty soon they're either calling you Darth or you're coughing up your internal organs in liquefied form."

"What will you do?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "I've a Jedi Master in my head who's there because of Sith poison. The poison weakens my system, the Jedi don't know of an antidote. The only option I have left is to believe that, since they made it, the Sith do."

"So it's back to Sith space for you?" she asked. "Your dad is going to be crushed. It tore him up to know you were in the Sith Academy the first time."

"I know," he said, unable to offer any explanation or comfort. "That's just the way it'll have to be, I guess."

"It isn't fair," she muttered. "We ought to be getting a vacation after all this. It ought to be over sometime. Finished." She shook her head and pushed away from the comm station. "I'm going to see how Teagan is doing and see if Belaya needs any help." She headed for the door.

His lip quirked up and he watched her go. Even in the short while they'd been in close contact, he could see her features had changed. Her eyes had a sharper look to them. Like she saw more. "Things might not ever be finished between us, Mission."


	114. Keeping Faith

Keeping Faith

Mission

With Big Z's message still haunting her, Mission went down the hall and away from Dustil. The human boy had an overdeveloped sense of heroism. Just like his old man. _I can't see them again before I leave_, she realized. _I can't see any of them, or I just won't go. Then Griff'll die, and Jev won't have an agent in place to take down Slooka. And I'll go back to being plain old Mission Vao, face too famous for hustling anything but my own rear end_.

She made her way to the med bay and busied herself with putting blankets in the sterilizer. On the way to the mess hall, she passed the locker where she stowed her pack and pulled it out. Wonder what the Mandalorians would think if they knew the helm of Mandalore was right here on their ship. Stuffed in a bag.

As she got closer to the mess hall, she heard Teagan and Belaya talking. The Jedi's voice was soothing, while the Mandalorian girl's pitched up and down unevenly, and was punctuated by deep groans. She winced. Humans and Twi'leks had babies almost the same way, as far as she knew, and neither way sounded like something she had any desire to do in the next hundred or so years. But still-she couldn't help but be curious, and came closer.

"What you call Wild space, we have charted and navigate regularly," Teagan said, and blew out a gusty stream of air. "There's another one-longer this time. Our children and our elderly are not kept in war zones like you Republics. We take them to safety-_ohhhhhh_-before we do battle."

"And that is where you and your comrades have been, is it not?" Belaya continued talking to the girl. "That was forty seconds, by the way. You're doing great. You were in Wild Space while your warriors conquered worlds."

"Yes. When the contacts from Mandalore and his Generals began dwindling, we knew that the war wasn't going well-_ahhhh_." Mission tiptoed into the doorway to see Teagan breathing and holding her stomach. Even from here, she could see the sweat on the Mandalorian girl's face.

"When we learned of Mandalore's defeat and the dispersion of the clans, we began our return back to known space to see if we still had a people to return to."

"I'm sorry," Belaya said, "I wasn't counting that one as well as I should have. I'm too interested in your story."

"It was about half a minute," Mission said from the doorway. Belaya waved her further in. She stepped into the room, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You mean to say that you and your friends have been wandering around space since you were little kids?"

Teagan nodded. Belaya suggested the girl turn on her hands and knees, and lean on one of the benches that folded out from the wall. "This place isn't so bad. We stopped at several Mandalorian waypoints on our journey. Our Clanmothers taught us about the Mandalorians who had built them originally, and we learned our history properly."

Definitely Canderous people, Mission thought. Teagan had the same fustiness in her voice when she talked about Traditions and History. Blah, blah, blah, she thought. But she didn't say it out loud, because Teagan's story was interesting. "So you weren't even close to anything happening during the wars with the Mandalorians _or_ the Sith?"

"Nope." She shifted her position and draped herself over one of the seats bolted to the bulkhead.

Mission watched in fascination as her belly rippled with movement. It looked like there was something alive in there. _Well duh_, she thought.

"The closer we got, the more we learned of how Revan and Malak had defeated us, and how many warriors, and some whole clans, turned away from the traditional ways. Oh! Here comes another one!" In an unexpected move, Teagan reached out and caught Mission's hand and squeezed _hard_.

"Yeowch!" Mission's fingers crushed together, her knuckles cracking painfully under Teagan's strong grip.

Belaya rubbed the laboring girl's lower back. "Forty-five seconds. Do you feel like pushing yet?"

Teagan buried her face in her arm. "No. I wish we were back on Terrux 7 though. They had hot springs. I wish I was in water now."

"It's pouring down rain outside," Mission said helpfully. Belaya gave her a look. "What were you doing on Terrux 7?"

Teagan took a few deep breaths. "We hired ourselves out in small groups as security forces to earn credits or barter on our way back from Wild space. As we traveled, we met Mandalorians who still kept our customs and they joined us."

"If you had our luck, you met a lot more who didn't," Mission said wryly. After they ran afoul of the dirtbags on Dantooine, she'd told Canderous, "I always knew you were dangerous, but at least you wouldn't nail me if I didn't get in your way. These Mandalorians-"

He'd cut her off. "They aren't Mandalorians any longer." He refused to say any more on the subject, but she got the impression the big guy was sad, rather than angry.

"So what'd you come here for?" she asked. "I mean, why not just go back to your homeworlds?"

"You don't understand Mandalorians very well." Teagan licked her lips.

Mission darted to the water dispenser. While she was there, she got some ice for her hand and some water for Teagan. "Here," she said. "And you're right. Xim knows I don't get half the stuff Canderous rambles on about. Hey-is that blaster oil I smell?"

The girl took a long drink and nodded. "Keeps the stretch marks down. Without a leader, we don't deserve to return to our homes."

"Come back with your blade or impaled on it," Belaya remarked. "You are looking for your Lord Mandalore, if I understand it properly."

Teagan nodded. "The Jedi Revan defeated the old Lord Mandalore."

"So she's supposed to be the new Mandalore, huh? What if she doesn't want to be?" The almost careless way she'd found the helm in a box in the Enclave made her realize that telling that particular story would probably shock Teagan into having her baby right then.

The Mandalorian girl shrugged. "Then we are lost forever as a people," she said. "Without a Mandalore to lead us-I can't even imagine. In the ancient days, Mandalore united the clans. We will fall into fighting ourselves, fighting for nothing more than credits from the highest bidder." She looked down at her oversized midsection and rubbed it like a lucky charm to ward off her words. "Dying out."

The way she said it sounded so sad. Mission turned to look at the gray and white room. Probably the only home Teagan could remember. And she'd been traveling around, chasing a dream. _I lost my home, too_, Mission thought, remembering her first glimpse of Dantooine-the open spaces, the sprawling ranches, people used to sunshine on their faces and clean, clear water falling from the sky and flowing in the creek beds. When she first realized the planet she'd considered home had been, even before Malak cratered it, a world-class dump. _But at least I never had a dream yanked away from me._ "What if Revan were defeated?" she asked.

"Whoever killed her would be the next Mandalore. This one is-_oooh_-definitely-_urrgh_-harder!"

Thank Xim then, that Malak hadn't gotten his way. Or that Noura hadn't bit it back on Taris, or one of the other planets where they'd all managed to collect more enemies than normal people should merit. It'd be worse for Teagan if some two-bit, nameless Vulkar got in a lucky shot or two. But then again, Noura had the Force on her side, even when she didn't know she did. "That doesn't make any sense," she said. "What happens when Mandalore gets killed by an enemy in battle? You don't all suddenly switch sides. Or what if he dies of old age? Or gets killed by a stampeding herd of banthas?"

Teagan, who'd suddenly rolled to her feet and bent over double, didn't reply. Belaya answered for her. "Use logic, Mission. A Mandalorian holding the title would name another Mandalorian to take up the helm as his successor. Like a king and a prince." She looked to the pregnant girl, who nodded her confirmation.

"Well, does Mandalore have to die to give up the helm?" she pressed.

"I have to go to the 'fresher," Teagan said abruptly. She headed for the small door in the wall at a speedy, but lumbering gait.

Belaya turned to Mission. "I appreciate what you're trying to do by distracting her, Mission, but please try to avoid upsetting her."

Mission's head-tails curled around her neck. "I'm not trying to make her upset. I'm trying to understand. I don't think Noura has a clue about being Mandalore. I don't think she cared much when she was Darth Revan. She just chucked the helm in a box. Canderous would flip."

Teagan came out of the fresher with a gray look on her face. "I can't seem to stop," she said, her eyes filling with tears. The loose pants she wore were soaked through.

Belaya came over to her. "It looks as if your waters have broken, that's all." Even Mission felt the almost tangible flood of well-being vibes that came off Belaya. She was using the Force to calm Teagan down, and Mission was grateful. "It's time to have your babies."

The Jedi woman turned her head towards Mission. "Are you sure you want to stick around? Childbirth can get messy."

Oddly enough, in spite of the sadness she still associated with people having babies, part of her was fascinated by the way Teagan's stomach rippled with movement, and in spite of herself, some tiny part of her that never gave up hope wanted to, for once, see it as a happy event. "If you don't mind, I'll stick around and help out." Of course, she was still a smart-ass. "I'm getting a very thorough lesson on what happens when you don't keep your contraceptive shots up to date." She grinned.

That brought a smile from Teagan. "It's a waste on us," she said, and tapped the side of her neck. "Our bioregen implants see contraceptive shots as toxins, and neutralize them. In the past, our forces have used the same chemicals to weaken enemies in war. We didn't want the same done to us."

"No kidding?" Mission asked. She wanted to know what Mandalorians did and was about to open her mouth to ask when Teagan groaned, loud and long. She sounded like a ronto that needed to be put down and out of its misery. She squatted. "Wanna push now," she mumbled.

Belaya spared her a glance. "If you're going to stay, spread out the blankets."

Mission did as she was told. The next half hour passed by in a blur. Teagan shifted positions several times, and made noises that downright scared Mission. She screamed for Mandalore, for her boyfriend, Nicodemus, and for her mother. _I want my mom, too_, Mission thought, even though she couldn't remember what she looked like. But most of all, she hung onto Mission, catching her in a desperate-feeling bear hug. "You're doing fine," Belaya said over and over to Teagan. "Push with the contractions."

To Mission, she said, "You're doing fine, too. You're being very strong for her."

"I want my shots re-upped right after we're done here," she retorted fervently.

Belaya laughed. "I didn't carry any with me. We usually don't keep them on hand."

"Whyever not?" Mission demanded. "I'd be handing them out free if I was rich enough."

The older woman busied herself checking Teagan for a moment. "Jedi are supposed to be celibate," she said. "No need for shots."

"That's kind of dumb," Mission replied. "I've had shots since I was ten. Just in case, you know-the gangs..." she trailed off. "Then again, for a big, bad Jedi, they probably don't have to worry about that stuff. Except for Bastila." The big, bad Jedi who'd gotten jumped by Brejik and his losers when she got a bump on her head that knocked her out cold. "I guess stuff like that isn't supposed to happen to Jedi."

Belaya sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it right now, but suffice it to say the Order is somewhat obtuse and old-fashioned when it comes to certain matters. Jedi used to be taught to use the Force to such an end, but not any more." She gave a snort as her opinion on that thought. "Most of us get our shots from regular medical clinics, save for the ones who are overly militant about the Order's teachings-Oh! Teagan, get ready!" She suddenly exclaimed. "Here he comes!"

Mission's head-tails twitched in sympathy as she felt the other girl's body shudder. Right in her ear, Teagan gave a loud shriek. Mission didn't dare look down, even as she heard a rush of fluid splattering down onto the sheet, splashing her legs and feet.

"Oh! Here he is! Teagan, take him."

Teagan fell backwards and Belaya placed a wet, squalling, purplish little thing on her chest. Teagan started crying then, and Mission felt her own cheeks get wet.

Belaya broke the mood. "We're not done yet," she said. "Would you like to push your other son out now?"

"Other?" Mission said.

Teagan sobbed out a laugh. "I'm having twins."

"Yes, you are," Belaya said. This time, Teagan pulled on Mission's arm and bent herself in half from a lying down position. The younger brother was a little more courteous and gave his mother an easier time coming out. Once the little boys were snuggled next to their mother, she got a chance to look at them. They turned from purple to pink, and except for the hair on their heads and the lack of head-tails, looked...cute. They made her want to pick them up and cuddle them.

At the end of it all, Mission did cry. Belaya put her in charge of holding the helpless little bundles while the Jedi helped Teagan crawl onto a repulsor cart designed to transport mess hall trays.

Her hands full, she followed them out of the lunchroom, stepping carefully. One of the boys opened his eyes and looked up at her. She smiled down at him. "Look at you," she said softly. The infant regarded her solemnly. "Won't be long before your mama gives you your first vibroblade, if I know Mandalorians." The baby blinked. She waggled the tip of one of her lekku at him. He didn't laugh, but she didn't expect him to.

She followed them to the medbay where Belaya could finish up with housekeeping in a proper bed. Teagan held out her arms for her new sons and Mission found it was hard to transfer the little bundles out of her own arms. "I'll just-I'll just go clean up the mess hall, okay," she stuttered, and fled back to the mess hall, leaving mother, midwife, and new babies alone together and leaving herself alone period, so nobody would see her sniffle as she mopped up the mess left over.

She'd just gotten the worst of the mess taken care of and gotten herself a little more composed when Dustil joined her. "It's quiet," he said, coming right over to help, but stopping short at the soaking, bloody pile of towels, sheets, and blankets. "Is everything okay?"

Mission nodded. "Belaya says everything's okay. Everything came out okay in the end. It came out okay," she repeated softly. The words seemed to echo in the now-empty room. Her heart suddenly filled up with something bubbly. "We didn't have to do anything but be there, and it worked out by itself."

She stuffed the pile of messy linens into a recycler bin and pressed the button to activate it. "Come on," she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "It's time for us to be somewhere else."


	115. Helpless

Helpless

Bastila

By the time we clambered over the rocks to the large plain, the melee had dispersed. Dead and wounded remained on the outer edges of a crowd that thickened around a cleared space ringed by Mandalorians. I noted several Jedi robes mingling among the wounded on the outer edge, and several sets of finer civilian clothing in the main crowd.

"Spectators. Like carrion lizards." Beside me, Vima's voice dripped with scorn. I couldn't agree more. However, I couldn't spare much worry for them. I had other, more pressing worries, and was meekly grateful that the older woman took the lead and elbowed us through the crowd until we came close enough to see into the cleared space.

I stared hard at the two combatants in the ring. Annoyance had long disappeared in the face of real, bitter-tasting fear. I couldn't look away, yet I closed my eyes, which was worse. Fitting, but worse, because when I closed my eyes, the bond between Revan and myself was so strong that I could enter the fight. Drops of rain landed on my face and ran down my neck with increasing frequency.

My battle meditation reached out of its own accord, touching the minds of the two fighters, one a lover and one a sister. I fought to keep the battlemind from influencing either of them, and while I fought, I was helpless to ignore the strike and parry of their dance.

I felt the blows landed on Revan. Canderous's fists dealt dull, widespread impacts of pain through her body. The sheer force of them drove her back on momentum and I knew she was dimly dreading the bruising that would follow.

I felt her return strikes from within Canderous. Sharp jabs whose pain he ignored, but whose damage his body was unable to ignore. I felt the burn of his healing implant, and also his knowledge that Revan's attack plan centered around striking fast enough and frequently enough that the implant would be unable to keep up.

And it appeared to be a workable plan. Revan's body, concealed as it was in the voluminous robes, made a slight target to begin with, and the robes, instead of being the hindrance they ought to be, billowed out and made for attractive decoys. Several of Canderous's kicks and punches stabbed through empty fabric. Revan used the robe as a weapon, the little cheat. This was supposed to be pure, unarmed combat.

Yet the blows he did land-a shockingly solid jab to her jaw, that sent the metal alloy of her facemask ripping into her skin; a kick that caused the muscles in her hip to knot almost instantly-connected hard. Several times, she could have easily gone down without fear of being accused of being a lightweight. I felt the body-jarring impact of those strikes and knew that any one of them could have incapacitated her. But she shook the pain off stubbornly, reaching into herself and seeking a hot core of anger. The only thing preserving her from a dangerous fall to the dark side was the lack of active malice in her fighting. It was all stubbornness. _You stupid bint_, I thought uncharitably, not bothering to shield my disapproval. _You're going to seriously hurt yourself or him over this_.

But the Revan whose mind I touched was not the irreverent rogue whose personality ratcheted against mine. Nor was it the tormented mind crawling with poison hate and fury I'd first touched on that strike team forever ago. Rather, Revan was some hybrid, fully cognizant of her dark past, yet remaining aware of the person she was at present. That mask and robe, I knew full well, were imbued with their own dark side power, and she used it to her advantage, slipping down a dark path for darkness' sake.

I couldn't keep myself from reaching out and tempering that dark reach of hers. I knew full well how easy it was to reach into the dark side, especially over things we didn't want to face. My meddling had an effect on her-she faltered for the barest of moments and Canderous rammed his considerably-sized shoulder into her midsection, bending her in half.

The breath left her in an audible, choked whoosh. Canderous didn't need my battlemind to press his advantage as he brought his clenched fists down on her kidneys. "Yield," he grunted. I heard him through her ears.

"Not-a-chance," she wheezed.

He brought his knee up into her ribs. _Please, Revan_, I thought, _just yield_. _No one has to hurt any more. You've made your point, don't be stupid and prideful!_

"Yield, dammit," he growled again. "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"Tough," she gasped. The rain began to fall harder now, running rivulets over my skin, turning the scrubby dirt of the plain into a fine mud.

He kneed her again. I heard the crack of her ribs in my own ears. _Why won't you yield?_ I thought desperately. "Why won't you yield?" Canderous snarled. He grabbed her by the collar of her robes and hauled her up to his face.

Her breath wheezed through the mask, but her hands reached for his head. "She never-told me-she-loved you."

I reeled from the shock. Just as her hands came down and chopped at his neck, I was thrown from my position within their minds, my battle meditation concentration destroyed.

That was why I sensed no taint from her, even robed as she was in the dark side garments of her former life. She couldn't possibly be as dense as to not have realized my feelings for him after our midnight vision.

_Why not_, a small, insidious voice in my head whispered, _you've certainly taken your time with it_.

She head-butted him twice in rapid succession and he dropped her, reeling back. She jabbed his knee with a snap-kick and I saw it go out of joint. I expected him to fight through the pain-he'd taken a leg injury on Tatooine outside of the Krayt dragon cave when we faced Calo Nord and told me then that for joint injuries, his implant released capsules of shock-absorbing and immobilizing nanites around the locality to prevent stress and dislocation damage. So when he fell, it sent a terrified lance through my stomach.

Revan continued to press her advantage. Now that Canderous was down on his remaining good knee, she was able to kick him in the jaw and she did so, throwing the Force into her blow. Blood fountained out of his mouth even as he caught her foot and twisted.

She went down, sending a sluice of mud through the air. I closed my eyes and was again assaulted with the pain radiating from her, coupled with grim satisfaction at having an advantage. I also felt her gathering the Force to her. Not as a wave, as I'd assumed she would use again on Canderous. Instead, I smelled an all-too-familiar sudden ozone heaviness in the air around us, a smell I'd grown accustomed to in my darkest hours. The smell of impending Force-lightning.

She must have reawakened the ability, I thought. I wondered if the mask and robe that had anything to do with it, and realized how inane and insignificant the how and why were, when what I really needed to do was stop her.

I saw her fist clench inside the black glove and remembered another fist, clenched the same way, clenched in killing rage. I can't let this happen.

_She never said she loved you_.

STOP! I mentally shouted at Revan.

_Why?_

_I thought you'd have guessed_, I thought frantically. Across the circle, her head in that horrifying mask swung towards me. _I do_, I thought to her.

Vima Sunrider's forced lesson returned to me. The white column of light, cutting off the figure from the colors that were the Force.

_I do love him!_ Vima's instructions became clear. Separate it, then polarize it. My hair, now soaking wet along with my clothing, hung in my face and I used one hand to push it back, the small gesture grounding me back into my own body enough to center myself.

My talent seemed to know how to shape the Force without my conscious will, and I shoved the will of my Battlemind down the bond we shared. _I love him, and I won't let you use the dark side to hurt him_.

Pressure lanced through my head and I felt my nose begin to bleed from it. But when I looked, Revan's hand shot out towards Canderous and nothing happened. The heavy wetness in the air gusted rain into my face in the sudden silence surrounding me.

I tore my eyes away from the ring to see Masters Vrook and Vandar, Vima Sunrider, and Jolee all staring at me, and realized that perhaps I'd spoken aloud.


	116. Hammered

Hammered

Revan

I don't really know when it got personal. Maybe the bond did it. Feeling Bastila's conflict made me want to remove whatever was causing it, if only to stop the open wound between us. Or maybe it was the assembled mob all around us, wanting Darth Revan, expecting her, looking for someone to hate. Whatever the cause, it made me want to play to win, and it became not about Canderous, or his cultural traditions, but about re-establishing Darth Revan in some form. Giving the people what they wanted. Giving them their bogeyman. So when he caught the kick I aimed at his jaw, and spun me around bodily, using his size like the good tactician he is, I'd had enough.

I landed hard on the ground, but not hard enough to knock myself senseless. Instead, the breathlessness of having the wind knocked out of me gave room for blind fury to nudge its way further in. Water and mud seeped around the sides of my mask, trickled into the folds of my cowl and mixed gritty with the sweat that stuck to my skin from exertion. I rolled into a crouch and reached out, fingers curled into claws, ready to finally let loose the hazy red anger that roiled around me and-

Nothing happened.

Blunt shock ran through me. I called on the Force and it wasn't there. I shook my arm as if it were a blaster with a loose powerpack, as if shaking it would squeeze just a little more juice, just enough for one more shot.

Nothing. The Force was closed to me and I was suddenly behind a wall. A wall as hard and thick as Canderous's muscled juggernaut of a body.

Once more, I felt the disorienting double-vision sensation, the narrow T-line of sight through the mask superimposed upon itself in a time-delay and suddenly, I wasn't on a flat plain outside of a hunting lodge on Yavin 13 with rain turning my flowing robes sodden. I was in a dry, rocky crater on Malachor V.

Mandalorians and soldiers surrounded me as my lightsaber met the cortosis-enhanced blade of the Mandalore. His blade rang against my saber.

My body jerked back and I realized the ring came from my mask as Canderous's forearms came down on either side of my ears. I came back to the present with a jolt and felt the liquid trickle of blood in my ears.

The Revan-me surged forward, along with a wave of rage that burned me from inside out. I slammed my gloved fist into his jaw and felt my fingers go numb with the force of it. His head snapped back and blood fountained out of his nose, the bright crimson a stark contrast to the colorless flint of his eyes.

There was little recognition in them, and I felt the same way. The mask and hood, the gloves, the gauntlets, the boots, the strangely stiff pants that weren't my comfortable banthapants, all combined to insulate me in a cocoon that held me separate, outside. My tunnel-vision focused on Canderous. My friend, my enemy, who knew? The rain rinsed the blood away, leaving him a wash of grays and browns.

I tried to shuffle back from his kick and landed on the leg he'd wounded before. An involuntary moan escaped me as pain shot up from my knee straight through my spine and into the base of my skull. White-hot anger followed the pain and I lashed out at him, balancing on the bad leg to kick out with the good one.

My responses felt slow, sluggish. Without the Force, I moved blind and through water. Canderous-the big ugly lug-danced around me like a Twi'lek, and I told him so in a hissing whisper through lips already swelling. "Keep moving like a cantina dancer and I'll go get you a pole."

He laughed, a harsh bark with no humor in it. "Not so tough without your magic, huh, girlie?"

I snapped a kick that connected solidly with his hip. He ought to be sporting a bruise there in a few hours. He bantha-rushed me and the air left my lungs in a soft whoosh. My vision narrowed even further and I instinctively reached for the rage that would help me overcome the pain. It slipped around in my psyche and refused to do my bidding. In the meantime, I'd fallen back hard on the ground and Canderous landed on top of me. I still couldn't breathe, now because he was sitting on my chest and he's no scrawny thing.

Since I crash-landed on Taris, I've done some stupid and insane things. This has to rank up there with that sewer rancor. I wondered what I'd been thinking before my mind-wipe, when I first donned the mask and cowl.

Canderous joined his hands and raised them above his head. Through the slits of the mask, I saw the blank calculation in his eyes. I'd been worried that I would somehow defeat him, my Jedi powers outstripping his formidable combat skills. I should have picked something else to worry about.

His hands came down to a spot right between his thighs and I heard the loud crack of breaking bone and the intolerable pressure of my lungs collapsing from the blow. My spine arched involuntarily, the spasms of my body violent enough to throw him off me, but purely involuntary on my part. It was all I could do to drag in a breath. Gray crawled along the edges of my vision and blended in with the gray of his hair and eyes as he stuck his face in mine.

"Say you yield," he said, loud enough to be heard by some of the spectators.

I fought to breathe around the sharp jabs and dull, inexorable constrictions around my lungs. I focused on his eyes, pale in the mud and old blood that smeared his face. "She never said-she loved you." Blood filled my mouth and I felt it dribble out of the corners of my lips when I spoke.

The gray of his eyes became the endless gray bleakness of the Tarisian Undercity. "I know," he said. With the Force-its light and dark sides cut off from me-I swam in gray. Gray clouds roiled above us, gray rain falling down on us, pressing down on me like a deadweight.

Among the creeping gray spots dimming my vision and the unnaturally loud, straining thud of my heart in my ears, the realization that I'd lost hit me.

I lost. I really lost. I lost, plain and simple. Not the fight-Canderous beat the bantha crap out of me fair and square, Force or not, and I could live with that. No. I lost because he didn't win. Bastila didn't win. I couldn't make them win.

I felt humiliated, infuriated. There were some things in the galaxy I couldn't control, I realized, and behind that realization and the anger and wounded pride came the fear at the root of it all. And the shameful understanding that I'd done perhaps the stupidest thing of all. Somewhere along the line, I started believing in my own hype.

"No," I ground out.

The Melodie ambassador had been right. For all the terror that Darth Revan inspired, all the things she'd accomplished both good and bad, all the destiny that swirled around me...I was still, and had always been, just a woman. An arrogant, more than a little selfish woman convinced that the galaxy would run better if she were in charge, and when I failed at that, I settled for merely controlling the people around me.

Canderous shook me and my teeth rattled in my head. "Yield, dammit!"

I couldn't get a breath to tell him to quit shaking me so I could answer. Over the roaring in my ears, I heard Carth's voice, as if from a long tunnel, yelling my name. I saw blurry shapes surge together in a knot, and heard the clash of armor. "No! He's going to kill her!"

Silly Carth, I thought. There is no death. There's only the Force. And its damned lessons in pride and arrogance. Bastila might have gotten taken down a peg, but I fell a couple of stories.

_Yes I do!_ I heard her voice again. _You cannot win, Revan_. This time, it was just as implacably stated as the last, only this time-I felt something quieting shimmer down the bond from her. Like the slow snuffing of a candle at the stub. It hammered the fight out of me where Canderous's powerful hands couldn't. It's over, I thought. It's done.

I tried to focus on Canderous, but he was becoming just a gray shape in the midst of ever more gray, and I still couldn't breathe. I was drowning in a world of colorless gray, bas-relief in granite, frozen forever as a horrible warning to future generations. "I-yield." I know I said it, but I didn't hear anything.

He shook me again. _Read my lips, you oaf_, I thought. Then I realized that I still wore the mask, and he couldn't see my lips to read them.

I reached one weak hand up and scrabbled ineffectually at the mask, jolting it clumsily across my face. I managed to get it halfway off, one eye and part of my nose still obscured by the perpetually cold plastisteel. But through my one good eye, I glared at him and wheezed, "I-yield-you-bastard."

Half cross-eyed as I was, I still caught the relieved expression on his face, before triumph replaced it. He leaned back, giving me precious air. I let my head roll to the side while air returned to my lungs. The mask fell the rest of the way off. Good riddance, I thought.

He staggered to his feet, swaying, but upright. "Revan yields," he said. Through eyes already swelling shut, I saw him bend down and felt his hand at the top of my head. He pulled a knife from his boot-hell, why didn't I expect him to be armed, even in unarmed combat- and pulled the hair of my topknot tight, bringing me up to a sitting position. He brought the knife down to my head, severing the braids with one clean stroke.

I felt the burn of my hair ripping from my head and fell back down to the ground. _That sonofabitch scalped me! _Some small part of my mind screamed. The rest of me wondered why my hair mattered when I had punctured lungs, broken ribs, and a seriously wounded knee among other damage that made colored spots dance before my eyes. But at least I didn't have to see gray anymore.

The Mandalorians keeping Carth back from the battle ring suddenly relaxed and he stumbled through.

"You could have killed her," he hissed at Canderous.

"I don't think so," Canderous grunted back, sounding offended. "Now declare my victory before I fall over."

Carth glanced down at me. I tried to wave a hand, to tell him I'd live another few minutes without him, but all I managed was a twitch of an arm that felt like nothing more than a dense collection of interconnected bruises. I had to settle for what I hoped he'd recognize as a wink through one sore eye.

He must've understood, because he turned to the crowd and said in a voice of command that must have inspired Republic troops against the very man he stood with today. "Canderous of clan Ordo is the victor in single combat against Revan of the Jedi. He has proven himself worthy to claim his mate."

The sound of cheering Mandalorians reached me. With effort, I shifted my gaze to Canderous, craning my sore neck to see him. Canderous had a split lip, a lump on his temple had swelled to the size of a kinrath egg, and both his eyes were blackening already. He held the braids of my topknot in his hand-braids that I'd spent years growing, and braids where the absence of which my scalp now stung. Better than my whole scalp, I guess. He grinned savagely, showing bloody teeth. Canderous smiling in the best of shapes is a scary sight. In this case, filthy and bloody, holding the top of my head in one fist, he was terrifying.

I only wish he wasn't the last thing I saw before my consciousness decided it wanted the check.


	117. Confessional Redux

Confessional Redux

Bastila

The scrutiny of the Masters held me trapped. A small but significant part of me wanted to sink into the ground in horror at the way I just blurted out my betrayal of the code. Another part of me wanted to turn back to the fighting. Still another part of me said, "Ha! There, I said it and lived."

No great Jedi god came thundering out of the sky with the rain to smite me for my admission. Masters Vandar and Sunrider wore slightly bemused expressions and Master Vrook's expression practically screamed in horror at the idea that the Jedi would find themselves figuratively-and literally in my case-in bed with the Mandalorians. A Shistavanen Master, his iron-gray fur reminding me of both Canderous, and-somewhat more uncomfortably-the wolves he hunted for me these past days, craned his neck. His nostrils flared gently as he sniffed the wind.

"Truly love the brute, do you?" Master Vandar asked.

"He's not a brute," I snapped irritably, forgetting to whom I was speaking. Even though I'd called Canderous such and worse to his face time and time again, and likely would continue to do so when he annoyed me, I decided then and there that no one else was permitted the privilege.

Vima Sunrider's ginger eyebrows rose. "The Master asked you a question," she said gently, twisting the collar of her jumpsuit between rough-nailed fingers. "Do you truly love him, or do you say such simply to conclude a battle?"

My jaw worked soundlessly. For all that I had opened my mouth and actually admitted to love for the Mandalorian, expecting censure not only from the Masters but from the Force itself, and they _didn't believe me_?

Angry heat crept up my cheeks. Master Drussht, the Shistavanen who'd accompanied Vima, leaned in closer to me and sniffed again. The low growl of his lupine voice was gentle. "Is it truly an insult to believe a Jedi would sacrifice so much of herself to bring peace?"

I calmed. In this case, yes, I thought, especially as the two combatants weren't exactly enemies. And yet, they all seemed eager to offer me an out, a way to retract my words or explain them away.

I met Vima Sunrider's gaze steadily. "I speak the truth," I said quietly, sparing a glance for the grappling duo in the ring. "I can't explain how or why, nor can I eliminate my feelings. I suppose that simply because I returned from the Dark side does not mean I am not still fallen."

Vima cocked her head, bright eyes amused. Her white-streaked ginger curls bobbed. "It's been a long time since I've kept company with someone so hard on themselves. A very long time." She reached up and curled a lock of her wet hair around her finger. "I've grown rather unused to the melodramatics associated with self-abuse."

I gaped at her. For a Jedi Master, Vima Sunrider lacked that stillness the rest of the masters exuded. She also lacked the tact, sympathy, and any but the remotest sense of kindness. I wondered how she ever managed to convince anyone that she achieved serenity and oneness with the Force.

"I'll bet you didn't even enjoy your time here, did you? That's a real shame."

"I-how-_Master Sunrider!_" I didn't know which embarrassed me more-that she was right about most of my time here, or that she was very, very wrong about a short, but significant part of it.

Vima Sunrider laughed merrily. "Bastila, did you think every Jedi was trained so..." here, she spared a look at Master Vrook, and lowered her voice, "severely?"

"Er, well," I faltered. "Yes."

"Well they weren't," she said flatly. "What will you do with this love to which you so reluctantly admit?"

Ha. A simple question, loaded with pitfalls for the unsuspecting. All my training, the paths that had worn deep grooves into my psyche, suggested that I should turn my back and walk away from the entire spectacle and all it represented. I should return to the Jedi Enclave, the Masters, and hold myself above and apart. A Jedi should be held to higher standards; with great power comes great responsibility.

Vima Sunrider folded her arms and shook her head. "I can just see the wheels turning." Her tone was sharp, and faintly mocking, and not at all like the serene one a Jedi Master should take. But I'd come to realize that Vima Sunrider was not a typical Jedi Master. I prayed she and Jolee wouldn't come within five meters of each other. "Stop reciting your lessons, girl, and look at the Force, already!" she snapped.

"I don't _know_ where the Force flows!" I snapped back. I can only be pushed so far, by the Force. "It's not behaving like it ought!"

She laughed outright, peals of laughter that split through the dull roar of the assembled crowd. "Ah, the perils of a formal education in the Force. This is what Dantooine will get you." She turned her head to glare sharply at Vrook and Vandar. "This is what training enclaves net the Order." She turned back to look at me and the last vestiges of merriment left her eyes. No longer could I confuse her with anything remotely maternal. "Be aware of your feelings, Bastila. Listen to them for once in your regimented life. Be aware of what makes you a Jedi. Your feelings. Your instincts. And-" her gaze flayed me as she dropped her green eyes to my midsection "-your body."

"What?" But as soon as she said it, I knew. Gut instinct, visceral, primordial, old as time and life itself. "How-"

"Do _not_ ask me that question," she said sharply. "If you point out one more dismally deep abyss in your education at the hands of Dantooine, I will be forced to seek out the Sith and thank them myself for destroying it."

"I _meant_," I said, my own tone holding a fine cutting edge, "how did _you_ know?" _And how did you know before me. And how do you know these things at all?_ "And stop insulting my masters," I said. "It's rude and unbecoming in a Jedi Master."

"I am a rude and unbecoming Jedi Master," Vima retorted. She sighed. "I know because I learned not only how to use my Force-talents as weapons of defense and attack, but how to sense my own connection and place in the greater web of existence. I learned not only how to heal myself and others, but to understand my own Force." She sighed again. "In their zeal to protect you from the passions that led so many Jedi down a dark path, they avoided the teaching of understanding your own self. Otherwise, they would have taught you how to use the Force to regulate your cycles. Or at least, to be aware of them and know when to time your activities."

I reeled in shock. "I never expected-"

Her laugh returned, genuine this time. She doubled over with the force of it. "My dear silly girl, those very words are spoken trillions of times all over the galaxy every day. There are some things that are as unstoppable as the turn of the galaxy itself."

I crossed my arms in front of me to ward off the numbness that wanted to seep through my body. Only the locked position of my knee joints kept me from plopping down into the mud. "I-what am I supposed to do now?"

She put her hand in her pocket and pulled it back out. "Have a chocolate."

I took the confection from her, my mind a maelstrom. Almost mechanically, I unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth, not caring that the rich and gooey filling kept my jaw shut for whole minutes. At this point, I needed the help and I was tired of gaping like a fish.

"And return to my first question. What do you want to do now?"

When I finished chewing, I said in a small voice, "I don't want to give up being a Jedi. It's all that I know."

"But it is not all that you are," she said, very gently, very softly. "Did you think that your only value is the ability to make Sith snub fighter pilots fumble their controls? Did you think that gift you have of inspiring troops to think better, fight harder, feel more hope, is only good in battle situations, and amongst hundreds of troops? " She laughed again. "You inspire thousands. One-" she paused to glance into the ring, "-didn't have a chance."

I wrapped my arms more tightly around myself. "I love him," I whispered. "I don't know how to resolve it." I looked towards the ring, even though I could no longer see the combatants. I could still feel the fight, a small corner of my mind where Revan traded blows with Canderous. "I'm not Revan. My life hasn't been erased from memory and remade. I can't simply start over with a new identity."

"No," she said. "You're not Revan. You have it tougher than she does. You not only have to live with the consequences, but the decisions as well."

My mind literally ached with the effort of thinking so circularly. Rain ran in rivulets through my scalp and down the back of my neck. I longed for a Jedi robe, if only for the generous hood that would have kept me dry. "But how could I be a Jedi with such entanglements?"

"How can you be a Jedi without them?" the older woman asked, not unkindly. "Love lies at the root of compassion. When you hold yourself above and apart from the galaxy, how can you serve it?" With a sideways, amused glance at me, she smiled. "Our last lesson is always the hardest to learn. And it never comes without surrender. Can you surrender to the will of the Force? Or will you be like my Master, and learn your last lesson as you are committing your last act in the realm of the living?"

I looked from the ginger-haired woman to the two mud-covered combatants in the ring. Both stubborn and more than a little prideful. Yet neither could hold a glow-stick to me. Could I still be clinging to my arrogance, believing that my destiny as a Jedi must fit a narrow set of parameters limited and defined not by the Force, but by my own preconceived notions?

The clouds above us shifted from muddy gray brown to a plainer gray, and the rain shifted from fat drops to a heavier, but finer spatter that seemed to saturate me to the bone. Vima Sunrider smiled and patted my hand. "You begin to understand," she said. Then she turned to Master Vandar. "Well?"

The little green alien gave one of his inscrutable smiles from beneath the deep hood of his Jedi robes. "Correct are your feelings, Master Sunrider. Keen are your instincts." His round, protruding eyes closed briefly, then opened again and he looked up at me. "A true Jedi Knight, you have become, Bastila Shan," he said, and nodded once, as if that settled it.

I blinked stupidly, unsure of what I'd just heard, and unwilling to ask again.

Master Vrook spoke. "Uphold the Order's principles wherever your travels may take you," he said, and if I heard a certain grudgingness to his tone, my ears could have been playing tricks on me, as I suddenly felt as if my head had been shoved under water.

Vima Sunrider's voice came from what seemed like very far away. "Answer the call of, and act out the will of, the Force." The older woman's hand shot to my waist and she snatched my lightsaber out of the pocket where it hung. She used the dangling sleeves of the bottom of my borrowed swoop jumpsuit to smear the rain around on the barrel, and handed it back to me.

My fingers wrapped around the cool metal hilt and I hung onto it for dear life. "Is this-are you-did-"

Again, she smiled. A scoundrel's smile, eerily reminiscent of Noura at her most unrepentant. "You were expecting a big to-do on Coruscant, with a parade, then?"

"I-of course not. But I-" I'd abandoned all expectations of knighthood after my fall, to be honest. I knew I might become one someday, many years after I redeemed myself, but- "My class of apprentices had a graduation when we became Padawan candidates," I said lamely. "There was food."

"Of course," she said, and fished in the pocket of her robes. She pulled out something and handed it to me. "Here you go."

I stared down at it. Another of her half-melted chocolate candies. "But-what do I do now?" I asked her. Master Vrook and Master Vandar had already moved further into the crowd of people gathered around us.

Vima put her hand on my shoulder. "Eat it."

Eating chocolate sounded like a very good idea. I tore open the wrapper and put the soft, sweet confection in my mouth. There was more chewy filling in the middle that coated the roof of my mouth and tongue, this time something fruity. I have no doubt she gave it to me to keep me silent for the next few minutes, as Carth's voice rang out over the assembled crowd.

"Canderous of Ordo is victorious. He has defeated Revan for the right to his mate."

All around us, the Mandalorians began cheering, thumping on their armored breastplates and chanting, "Ordo! Ordo! Ordo!"

Vima clapped her hands together. "Well fought. Well fought," she murmured, even though she could only be heard by me and the other few people right next to us. She slanted another amused green-gold glance at me. "What does your heart tell you?" she asked. "Where does the Force flow?"

My teeth, still stuck to the chocolate, refused to let my mouth open, so I merely shrugged.

Vima's laugh this time held notes of deep sadness, a bittersweet sound that rippled with both the power of the Force and the power of her emotions behind it. I marveled at her comfort with it. "Still tongue-tied, I see. What do you think will happen next? Tell me what you see in your future."

I floundered. The chocolate dissolved, freeing my jaw, but I had nothing to say.

"I'll tell you what I see," she said. "A Mandalorian who needs a hand with his destiny." She glared at me. "He looks to have stamina enough for three women. If you don't go to him, I will."

"You'll do no such thing," I snapped immediately. She raised her eyebrows. My entire body now felt numb. "I suppose I'll be a Jedi among Mandalorians."

She patted my shoulder. Even the light pat was enough to make me stumble. "It wouldn't be the first time the Sons of Mandalore found purpose and meaning through a Jedi." Her eyes turned sad. I knew she was thinking of her old Master. "Perhaps this time, there will be a happier end to it."


	118. Mandalore

Mandalore

Canderous

My hands were sticky with mud and blood. In fact, I was coated in it. Sinking in it, as the rain came down in sheets and turned the dusty desert into a vast, shallow lake of mud. I figured I still stood only because my boots were sunk deep enough in the mud to keep me from falling over.

I searched the crowd, looking for Bastila. Last night on the mesa had made me think. Made me see further than my own ways of doing things. Her words to me this morning-her vows to the Jedi Order-they were her sacred vows, and much as I wanted, I would not trade her honor for my own, no matter how little I thought the Order deserved her. The duel had been fought, and my honor had been satisfied.

The individual pushing through the crowd towards me, halted by the Mandalorians ranged just outside the circle, was not Bastila. Not unless she suddenly sprouted blue head-tails.

"Lemme through you thick helmet-heads!" Mission's voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd.

"No spectators are permitted to interfere," the Deshiret warrior, Artavash, said firmly.

"This is a special case," Juhani said, appearing out of nowhere, her fur standing up in damp clumps. "We have something you've been looking for."

"Let us through," Carth's son, never far from the blue Twi'lek, pushed forward.

"It's not the way things are done," Artavash said stubbornly, putting her sword up.

"Things are gonna change," Mission said. "Besides, I gotta give him something."

"What?"

"This!"

Artavash's body kept me from seeing what "this" was. But whatever it was, it had the effect she'd hoped for, and more. I heard audible gasps from inside several Mandalorian helms, and I tensed. It hurt, but battle reflexes don't go away with a little pain.

Carth left my side. The wind from his passing nearly knocked me over. He entered the knot of Mandalorians and Mission. The blue girl started speaking in a low voice. I caught the tail end of her speech. "And so y'see, I figured somebody'd have to make an announcement or a proclamation or something, since you people seem to do that at the drop of a hat."

"And this is a pretty big hat," Dustil added.

Whatever she had in her hands, it made Carth start to laugh. And more significantly, it made Artavash stand to the side and let her through.

The Deshiret woman then spoke. "Mandalorians, bear witness!" She called out loud enough to be heard all the way up on the mesa where Bastila and I had spent the night. "Canderous of Ordo has defeated the Jedi Revan in single combat for the right to claim a wife." Scattered cheers at that. Nice to know somebody noticed, but why repeat the obvious? They already knew I was a worthy bridegroom. I needed a bride, not another declaration. "Four years ago at Malachor V, the Jedi Revan defeated Lugan of clan Starn, better known as Mandalore himself."

Memories stirred at her words. My stomach, probably the only internal organ that had escaped much bruising, now clenched, queuing up another pain for my implant to take care of.

"The Jedi Revan walked away with the title of Mandalore. Now, once again, Mandalore lies defeated. And a new Mandalore stands victorious."

I watched, panic and sudden realization dawning on me, as Mission approached, holding her prize between her hands as Artavash continued to speak. "Canderous of Ordo has earned the right to claim the title of Lord Mandalore!"

Mission shoved the crested helmet at me, catching me in the gut. "I can't reach your head unless you bend down, you planetoid!"

My body obeyed her, not out of understanding, because I'd suddenly become thick as a permacrete slab. Little Blue has always had a knack for hitting effectively, in spite of her lack of brute strength. She'd've been a corpse long before we left Taris with Revan if not from that. I doubled over, and she jammed the helm on my head, managing to scrape both my ears in the process.

My first view through the visor of Mandalore's helm showed Bastila approaching the circle. Mission gave the helmet a thump and stepped back, while Carth and Dustil dragged me back onto my feet, ears sore and ringing.

Bastila entered the circle just as Artavash dropped to her knees and struck her breastplate with her gauntleted fist. One by one the assembled remnants of my people dropped. I pulled the helm off and stared down at it, comprehension failing me. I earned the highest honor of my people when all I'd wanted was the right to claim my woman. And the first thing I'd have to do was give her up.


	119. Declaration

Declaration of Independence

Bastila

Jolee appeared beside me. "Don't screw this up, kid," he said. "The Order isn't the Force. The Code doesn't make the Jedi. "The Order has been too long in recognizing the need to change, or perish. This knowledge doesn't sit well with the Masters, who are old dogs and stubborn about learning new tricks. Don't make the same mistakes in assuming the will of the Force is as inflexible as you are." Abruptly, he shoved me forward into the circle, a touch of the Force behind the old man's natural wiry strength. I stumbled forward.

Canderous swayed on his knees, staring down at the helm in his bloody hands. He did not look up, neither at me, nor at the Mandalorians, including ancient Nuana, who dropped in twos and threes to one knee in an age-old demonstration of fealty. I felt their eyes on me, as well as him, each one wondering what would happen next.

Instead, he simply said, "Go, Bastila." Tension radiated from him, but what sent a curl of trepidation through me was the dimming of his spirit in the Force. He did not feel like a man who had not only conquered his opponent, but had won his culture and clan back. He felt in the Force like a man defeated.

When I did not move, his head swung around towards me. "What are you waiting for?" he snapped.

I closed my eyes and let the Force flow through me. Vima's words returned to me, as did Canderous's own from last night on the mesa. Even the mocking words of my own dark twin in the jungle all fell away. Emotions rose in me. Power stirred inside me, welling up in a rush that nearly overwhelmed me.

I feared...and acknowledged the fear. I angered...and let it flow through me. I loved...and let myself love. The fear and anger passed through me, and the love remained.

Perhaps I do know how and why I fell in love with Canderous. The will of the Force is a vast and awe-inspiring thing. And...as a Jedi, my most sacred vow is to act in accordance with the will of the Force. Perhaps this is how I am called to do so. Perhaps this is what Revan knew on the top of the Rakata temple, and why she was able to walk away from my offer to rule the galaxy.

_...Follow the flow of the Force...go where it leads you..._

"Where would you like me to go, Canderous?" I stepped closer, pulled by my heart and my feelings, no longer fighting them.

He glowered, sending me a look as black as the empty vacuum between stars. "Run back to your Order, Princess. I want a wife, not a prisoner." He jammed a hand into his side.

I shook my head, sudden tears clogging my throat. The numbness from before burned away along with the last of my strength. "I will never understand you," I said softly, sinking to my knees in the mud beside him. I reached into the Force and pulled the power to heal through me and into him. While I concentrated, the Jedi Code repeated its way through my mind. The flames of peace and passion burned side by side within me and lent a heat to the normally cool feeling of healing Force.

I trust in the Force and more importantly, in my feelings. I can't hide from them anymore, and Vima Sunrider made me see that I shouldn't.

I took his face in my hands, much the same way as he'd taken mine it seemed like forever ago in the bathhouse. "I will keep you, Canderous Ordo," I said, punctuating the words with an unladylike sniff. "I will defend your clanhold, give you sons and daughters, and speak of the glory of your deeds to the ends of the galaxy." I hadn't had the chance to memorize the formal words, but I'd read the cultural entries on marriage so many times trying to puzzle him out that I maintained a decent memory of the declaration. "And kill you if you ever pull an idiotic stunt like this again," I whispered, adding my own codicil to the traditional declaration.

He closed his eyes and his body shook. He failed to keep from smiling and his cracked lip split open. I kissed him gently, so as not to aggravate the wounds. His lips moved over mine and I felt the twin flames of peace and passion merge within me, burning steady, yet not consuming. Serenity like nothing I'd ever felt before in my life stole over me, and with it came a clean rush of effortless power that danced along my skin. I wrapped my arms around him, half to steady us both. The helm of Mandalore dug into my ribs. I ignored it. There was time enough for it to get in the way later.

He sucked in a sharp breath, as if he, too, could feel the burst of power within me. Perhaps he could. The Force flows through us all.

"There are clans here that need their leader," I murmured.

He looked at me, his eyes hard and searching. "You will do this? You will stand beside me as Lady Mandalore? What about your vows to the Order?"

My newfound serenity only expanded when I thought of a future away from the enclave. "I am a Jedi," I said. "I serve the Force. The Force flows through all things." I smiled. "Even thick-headed and addle-brained Mandalorians." I knew that coming right out and saying that I believed the Force was leading me to help the Jedi find understanding and peace with the Mandalorians remaining in the galaxy would probably cause Canderous to have an apoplectic fit, so I held my tongue on that regard. Perhaps one day, many years into our future, I will reveal this to him. But for now, I will choose to let the Force work in mysterious ways.

"Understand, I won't be going all native with Mandalorian traditions," I added.

A wheezing laugh shook his body. It would need looking after. "And you won't make a pacifist of me."

The sounds of shuffling in plates of plasteel armor reached my ears, along with faint murmurs. The murmurs swelled and turned into a clear, coherent chant, repeated over and over.

"Mandalore! Mandalore! Mandalore!"

_I've changed my answer_, I thought, directing the thought towards the planet beneath us with its perpetual question of my identity.

Who am I? I am Bastila Shan...Shan-Ordo, I suppose. Jedi Knight, and...Lady Mandalore.

I serve the Force.


	120. Unmasked

Unmasked

Carth

The assembled throng began to disperse, most of the Mandalorians clustering around Canderous. Even though my attention was on the still form lying in the dirt, I couldn't help but notice that the Mandalorians, one by one, were dropping to one knee and placing right fists over breastplates, as Canderous stood there like an idiot, staring down into the empty visor of the battered helm he held in his hands.

Dustil caught my eye and winked. I smiled back and promised myself to never, ever let Canderous forget the stupid, shell-shocked look on his face that was his first official expression as Lord Mandalore. Beside him, the soon-to-be Lady Mandalore was having trouble keeping her own jaw from scraping along the ground at the display of fealty. I hoped she and Canderous took a nice long vacation haunted by all the implications of their future.

But my future lay crumpled in the dirt, still and unmoving, and I waited until I was sure the crowd was focused on Canderous.

Vima Sunrider sidled up to me in the chaos. The chants of, "Mandalore! Mandalore! Mandalore!" grew louder as more Mandalorians picked up the chant. Even some of the non-Mandalorians in the crowd took up the chant. _Bread and circuses_. Jolee's voice, somehow in my head, muttered at the easy distractibility of the weak-minded.

"Go quietly," she said to me, her voice low and urgent. "Take up your woman and get away from here. I'll cover your retreat. Do not bring her back to the Jedi."

I nodded once. "Why are you doing this? I mean-you're one of them. Why don't you want her back in the fold and safe under your thumb?"

"Because she's earned the right to make her own destiny and her own amends without a bunch of old blowhards riding her every move."

I scratched my head. "Yes, but aren't you worried like the rest of them?"

"My Master's lessons weren't earned easily." I was born after the end of the Exar Kun war, but no kid in the Republic grew up without learning how Ulic Qel-Droma and Exar Kun had carved a bloody gash all the way to the Senate floor. How the Cron Cluster became the Cron Drift. I remembered the lesson well, because at the time we were studying the war, the entire galaxy had been abuzz with rumors of Vima Sunrider's disappearance when she'd run off to find the exiled Ulic.

"I-thank you," I said helplessly. "It's been hard believing the Jedi are the good guys lately."

She gave me a bittersweet smile. "It's a family thing for me. My mother loved a Sith Lord, too. I was proud to call him Master, and I would have been as proud to call him Father." I was stunned to see tears in her eyes, even after thirty years of being a Jedi. I thought Jedi didn't cry. Of course, Vima was no ordinary Jedi.

"Ms. Sunrider-Vima-" I said, "Thank you."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "You want to thank me, go find some backwater planet somewhere. Have lots of babies. Forget about the Jedi and the Sith and the Republic. Now go on!"

I lifted Revan's battered body-I noticed her scalp was bleeding from the irregular patch where Canderous had cut off her topknot and made a note to kick him in the jaw for it later. "Hang on, gorgeous," I said, studiously ignoring the wheezing whistle coming from her lungs. To Vima, I said, "She's not going anywhere for a while. She needs to rest and heal." I looked down at her too-pale skin. "If she still can."

She was alive, of course. I'd told Canderous that if he killed her, I'd kill him, and I meant it and he knew it. But I knew he'd also feel no compunction about making her hurt like hell.

"Bastila cut her off from the Force," Vima said. "Not permanently, but I can't tell how long it will last."

"I wish you Jedi would leave her the hell alone," I said.

"It was Bastila's choice," she said sharply. "Revan still exists in the Force-she's just temporarily...cushioned from it."

"Whatever," I said, holding her closer to me in an unconscious attempt to protect her from any further helpfulness on the part of any Jedi that happened to wander by. "Don't do us any more favors."

"Good," she said. "Remember that attitude."

I slipped around the back of the lodge and used the back door key to enter through the kitchen. Once in there, I went through to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. Then I took off that damned mask that was still half-hanging from her cowl.

Her face was bruised, cut in places where the mask's eye-slits had been ground into the delicate skin of her cheeks and forehead. Her eyelids fluttered open. "Hey, Flyboy," she croaked a bit nasally, and coughed. Blood flecked at the corner of her mouth.

After the noise of crowd and battle and rain outside, being in here where it was dark and quiet made my ears ring. "Shh," I said, taking out a medpac and pumping her full of kolto. We ought to buy stock in Manaan, we use so much kolto. Her pupils were wide, even when I shined a light in them. "You're concussed."

"Figures," she said. "At least I don't habe mady memories to lose, huh?" She brought a hand up to her face. "My dose is broked?" I moved her fingers away and looked at the bruise spreading out from the swelling bridge and nodded. "Now I cad breade aroud corders."

I suppressed a snort of laughter. "Always the funniest when you hurt the worst, huh, beautiful?" I administered a painkiller and tore open the foil pack of a kolto wipe and began to clean her cuts.

She nodded. "Dot laughig leads to de Dark Side." When I pulled my hand away from her face, she smiled up at me, her unfocused eyes swimming with tears. "I dub you," she said.

I grinned this time. "And I dub you, too."

"Cadderous ad Bastida sorted out?"

"They're accepting fealty pledges from the Mandalorians out there. There are at least eight clans represented."

"He deserbes it."

I shook my head. "I wonder if they all deserve Bastila, though. When I left, she was already issuing orders."

She chuckled and winced. I gave her another shot of kolto. "You rest here, beautiful. They'll be a long time out there. There are Jedi out there taking care of wounded and dispersing the gawkers. Jolee, Jev, and Mission are running interference against the holojournalists. By the time that cagey crew are finished up, the holojournalists won't be able to find their own asses with two hands and help from a glowrod. And we'll be free to sneak off to happily ever after."

She lifted her hand to my cheek. I took it and kissed each of her cracked and bleeding knuckles. Her eyes, concussed as she was, took on that smoldery sheen they get when she's wound up. I tweaked her broken nose. Gently. "Be a good girl, and I promise I'll kiss each and every part of you that's bruised, and then I'll kiss each and every part that's not."

"Where are you goidg?" she asked.

"The 'fresher. I heard there's an actual water shower in there."

"I'b so jealous," she said. "Stay wid be for a midute?" She looked up at me. "I cad't feel the Force."

I stroked her forehead. "Vima Sunrider said it's temporary. You're not cut off, just blind to it right now."

She took my hand and closed her eyes, her face taking on that slack mask that usually told me she was using the Force to heal herself. Even blind and deaf to it, she still could call on it. Normally, that took a lot out of her, and I worried that she didn't have it to spare, especially if she had to feel her way without her normal Force senses.

I remembered back in the jungle that Bastila had used Canderous and me to pull herself back from the brink. Revan had that same skill, and I hoped she'd use it.

I closed my own eyes and willed my life force into her, for whatever good it would do. I wasn't Force-sensitive, but I counted on the Force not caring about that. I felt a thin cord stretch from my soul to hers, and her hand tightened around mine. She gave a little gasp, and I felt a tug on the cord. Suddenly, I began to flow into her, and the sensation of being in her skin slammed into me hard enough to make me physically jerk.

I fell forward and found her bruised face with my free hand. I stroked her cheek and she turned her lips to mine. She tasted like dirt over the ever-present caffa taste that was undiluted Noura, but I didn't care if she'd been licking banthas before this.

I felt her fingers in my hair, teasing along my scalp. I came back to myself with a jolt, and realized that I'd gotten her voluminous dark robes halfway down her arms and her breast band unlatched. She made little kitty-purr noises and sucked on my tongue.

I nearly checked out of my common sense again when she did that. I'd had weeks to build up this frustration and I fought to control the desires kept in check only by the fact that I'd had near-death experiences to keep them at bay. "I have to stop." I realized I spoke out loud.

"No," she murmured. _We could_, a little voice coaxed me.

"Yes," I said. I wished I were answering that little voice. But she'd just had the daylights beaten out of her. She was in no condition for me to do even a fraction of the things I wanted to do to her. I pulled away.

"No," she pleaded, looking hurt.

I stroked the sides of her poor, battered face. "Sweetheart, I couldn't live with myself if I pawed all over you when you're barely holding it together."

"I don't mind," she said plaintively.

I smiled a bittersweet smile. "Get some rest. And if you're a good girl, maybe tomorrow we can-"

"Tomorrow?" Her voice grew stronger. "I don't think I can wait that long!"


	121. Parting Company

Parting Company

Mission

She stood back as the Mandalorians swarmed into the battle ring. She couldn't help but grin widely at the dumb look on Canderous's face. And when Bastila finally said she'd keep him, she did so in typical Bastila-lecture fashion.

She felt a presence at her side. "Very nicely done, my dear."

"I don't know how you do it," she muttered, "but you make everything sound...sleazy."

"Sleazy sells stories," Borx said. "Are you ready to go?"

She folded her arms. "Not yet." Jev Secura had instructed her to wait for his comm before she left the planet. She wouldn't mind if he never did call, and she could just live out the rest of her life right here. "So why don't you run off and spread your slime somewhere else for the time being, huh?"

He gave her an insincere smile, showing his teeth. "I'll just be thinking up headlines over here. 'Jedi sells out to mercenary' has a nice ring to it. Or how about, 'Jedi _surrenders_ to Mandalorian.' More suggestive, don't you think."

Ugh. "Piss off, Borx." She stalked off, following a flash of green head-tails to a knot of people. She recognized a few of them from the Yavin 4 Governor's party. A Republic military commander, two minor administrators of the sector, a holojournalist a lot more respectable and less sleazy than Borx.

Jev Secura offered her a smile. "Careful," he murmured. "Being seen too often with me might raise questions neither one of us want answered."

"Well what am I supposed to do now?" she shot back. "Just go off with Borx and wait until my head-tails shrivel up?"

"No. You'll go off with Borx. It'll be up to you to convince Slooka's domo, Kared Thoen, to invest in dancing and etiquette lessons for you-which I don't think will be too tough. But it won't be as easy to convince him to send you to the Neb Trys finishing school on Ryloth. It's up to you to get there, but once you're there, Oola Ja will take your training in hand."

"Wait-you want me to go to-" she made a face, "-school?"

"You're of no use to us if you don't know how to do what we do."

"Nice to know you care," she retorted.

"You'll be contacted once you're installed at Slooka's. So say your goodbyes now."

"I already have," she said, stalking away from him. She hadn't seen any sign of Big Z in the crowd and she was glad. She didn't want to have to say goodbye to his face. Sure it was the coward's way out. She knew that. _Sometimes you have to run away to survive_.

She found Dustil with a group of Mandalorians and Belaya. Teagan had come off the ship on shaky legs. Belaya held one of the new babies, and Teagan held the other.

Dustil sidled up to her. "Says she wants her sons to meet their new liege right away," he said, by way of explanation.

"This I gotta see," she said, laughing at the picture of Canderous anywhere closer than a planet's length to a real baby. She still half-believed the big guy ate 'em for breakfast.

"C'mon then," he said, and pulled her by the hand to the edge of the circle. They reached the clearing in time to see the Mandalorians removing their helms, and Mission instantly picked out Canderous's kinsman. The new dad. Canderous stood with an arm around Bastila, and she could tell he was leaning on the Jedi more than either of them let on. Of course Noura would have given him a good run for his money.

Beyond the Mandalorians, the motley crowd began to separate into clusters. Mercenaries who'd figured out their targets were no longer viable watched with interest as the drama played out. Other people, the ones who'd been at the fancy party a few days ago, clustered under sheltering cloaks and gossiped among themselves, pointing into the circle. _Beat it, ya buncha mynocks_, she thought crossly.

Teagan and Belaya walked slowly towards him. Mission couldn't help but hold the tails of Dustil's tunic as she strained to hear Teagan's voice as she presented her sons to Nicodemus. "I have given you two fine sons, Nicodemus of Ordo," she said. "Will you accept them as your own?"

The young man held out his arms and the two women placed the twins into them. He turned to face Canderous. "My sons, Lord Mandalore. Of Clan Ordo and Clan Aesyr."

Canderous didn't say anything for a long time. Even Mission held her breath.

Finally, he spoke. "The sons of Clan Ordo and Clan Aesyr-" he faltered. Mission's eyes widened. The big guy actually stammered! "Damn, they're small," he muttered. Bastila jabbed an elbow into his ribs, causing him to wince visibly. "No-the sons and daughters of all Mandalorian clans of honor-are welcome under the banner of Mandalore."

Mission spotted Juhani coming towards her while an old woman who looked like she'd been around since the Hutts were itty bitty sea-slugs stepped forward and knelt laboriously in front of Canderous. "Lord Mandalore has great honor," she said. "Let us leave the battle ring, then and he can show his great wisdom by coming in out of the rain."

"Don't laugh," Juhani murmured in her ear, and Mission clapped both hands over her mouth to stifle the snort of laughter choking her up. "Belaya tells me you did well in assisting her at the whelping."

Mission shrugged. "I just fetched and carried, is all."

Juhani smiled. "Still, acts of small assistance are just as significant as large ones. One doesn't have to be a Jedi Master to save a small part of the galaxy." The yellow-eyed Cathar shot her a look. "I know you are going with the Devaronian," she said. "And I know there is more reason than you let on." She slipped her hand into Mission's and squeezed, leaving a small datachip in her palm. "This is an anonymous comm code. Should you find yourself needing assistance, this will bring it to you."

Mission raised her eyebrows. "You're letting me go? Not gonna lecture me on being too naïve or too irresponsible?" In the circle, Canderous chuckled, a rough, harsh sound and tucked the helm of Mandalore under his arm. Bastila helped the old woman rise, in spite of her protests, and the Jedi could be heard muttering, "don't be so stubborn. _My_ ways are to help those who need and deserve it, not let them struggle on their own while I stand idle."

Juhani's fur rippled lightly. "I do not approve of your unwillingness to say goodbye to the Wookiee in person, but I can understand it." She paused. "I know you still have some growing up to do, Mission. I wish there were a safer way you could do it."

Mission's head-tails curled protectively around her neck. "I'm not sure what 'safe' is. You know what it was like on Taris. I think safe might be more dangerous for me than dangerous."

Canderous apparently did have some latent sense to come in out of the rain, because he put an arm around Bastila and limped towards the edge of the circle. Mission edged closer to the big guy, Juhani close on her heels.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Carth and turned to look. He and an orange-headed woman were crouching over Noura's crumpled form. She saw Carth cock his head in that way he did when he was thinking about something-or complaining about the Jedi. She slipped up next to Bastila. "Bastila?"

The Jedi turned to her. "Mission. You are unharmed?" Bastila's blue-green eyes scanned her, noting the dirty armor and her grubby pack, and the blood stains all over both.

She looked down and nodded. "It's not my blood," she said. "I just found out how messy it is to have babies." She could have sworn she saw a slight flash of panic cross Bastila's face, but it was gone so fast that she chalked it up to her imagination. "Um, is Noura going to be okay? I mean-can you still-feel her, y'know?"

Canderous stepped in a mud puddle, and caused Bastila to stumble before regaining her footing. Unfortunately, the Jedi was now soaked to the knees. "She's very weak," Bastila murmured. "But in little danger of dying."

"She'll be hurting for a while, though," Canderous muttered. "Good."

"So will you," Bastila muttered, somewhat crossly.

Say what she would about them, the Mandalorians weren't stupid. They gathered beneath the closest transport, leaning against the landing struts or sitting cross-legged in small groups. Someone rolled plasteel cylinders down the landing ramp for the old lady and Teagan to sit on, and another small group clustered rocks into a pile and aimed blasters at them until they glowed with heat.

"S'funny," Mission said, "Those are Ordo babies. Her boyfriend or husband or whatever is from Clan Ordo. Canderous isn't the last of his kind after all."

"And the galaxy trembles in fear," Dustil mumbled in her ear.

She snorted with laughter. Once under cover, she un-shouldered her pack and delved into the main pouch. "Bastila?" She came out with a roll of cloth. "I brought you some clothes." She shook out the cloth. It was a dun-colored short robe favored by all three female Jedi during their travels. "It's one of Noura's, so it probably won't fit over your boobs, but all your clothes were...well..."

"Were what?" Bastila frowned. But she took the short robe and pulled it on over her wet clothing.

"The night Canderous made his declaration, we discovered sabotage in yours and Revan's rooms at the Governor's palace," Juhani said.

"Somebody trashed your room," Mission said. "And blew up Noura's. She was in it at the time." She shivered at the narrow miss.

Bastila's eyes clouded. "Sith agents," she said, helping Canderous to the ground.

"Republic reactionaries, more likely," Juhani said. "The graffiti in your room suggested someone was more than willing to pass judgment on your fall."

"So my room...my possessions?" She stayed kneeling by the big Mandalorian.

The Cathar held up a hand. "Revan rescued your personal pack."

Bastila breathed a sigh of relief. "My father's holocron was in that pack. I would have been...disappointed to lose it."

Mission edged back, letting Juhani get closer to Bastila while the two discussed the recent events that Bastila had missed during her stay here. All the while, she noted that Bastila kept her shoulder underneath Canderous's and her body close to his. Sweet, but puzzling.

"Think they'll be happy now?" Dustil asked her.

She nodded. "Zim knows why, but they seem to fit well together. If they don't kill each other in the process." Canderous, even without moving, seemed to put this buffer of himself between Bastila and everyone else. And the fact that he leaned on her at all spoke volumes.

He smirked. "They won't."

"What makes you say that?" she asked. "What do you know from anything?"

"He treats her like a girl."

"Duh," she said. "Did the boobs give it away? And by the way, that's my undervest she's wearing. Never in a million years thought that Bastila and I could trade clothes." Never in a million years could _she_ fill out an undervest like Bastila.

"Don't be a bantha," he said. "Canderous treats her like a woman. The Jedi don't. The Sith didn't-and I think she's lucky on that one."

She cocked her head to one side, her head-tails twirling around each other in confusion. "How d'you figure that makes a difference?"

He shrugged. "Don't you want to be treated like a person, rather than an object or an asset?"

"Good point." Then again, she was heading off to a place where she most likely would be treated like an object.

"So you're sure you're leaving with Borx?"

She nodded. "It's a place where I can make a difference." It would be worth it if she could help bring down a Hutt or two. There'd be that many more people who'd be treated like people, instead of objects.

"Make allies," he said, dropping his voice low. "But keep your side deck close to your chest. Don't for a minute think that you're not expendable." He breathed out a heavy sigh. "All the same, remember you've also got friends."

She turned to look at him. To really look for the first time since probably the jungle. "I know who my friends are, Dustil," she said. "They're the only things any of us have of real value in this galaxy."


	122. Price of Peace

The Price of Peace

Revan

I don't know how he did it, only that he did. He reached into us and took that silvery thread of love and shoved his life essence down the cord until it exploded inside me, filling me with sparkling energy, taking my breath away with the power and force of it.

My mind filled with disjointed images of his life-birthday parties, Founders' Day celebrations, Boonta Eve toasts. Warm hugs from family members and close friends, soft kisses in the dark with a woman I couldn't see, but who smelled like river lilies. Back further to a brightly-lit room, cradling her body while it heaved and rippled with the efforts of life, and a baby's cry splitting the silence.

Darth Revan's mask slipped from my nerveless fingers and stayed crushed between our bodies as he kissed me and shoved his life energy into me. I felt myself grow strong, drunk on the memories of his life, and the urge was there, powerful between us, to take more-I wanted to take and he wanted to give and I knew if one of us didn't stop, we'd both suffer disaster.

Cold metal cut into my bare skin-the mask of Darth Revan dug into my midsection. Blind as I was to the Force, I couldn't use any mental discipline to shunt the effects of his not-entirely-unwelcome offering.

He seems to always know how to catch me when I fall. He's doing it again even now, I realized, even as bitter disappointment followed in the wake of his pulling away. His promise of tomorrow was little comfort. With the way we'd been living lately, tomorrow always seemed to bring up some new problem.

He was about to leave me for the 'fresher when a soft sound-an innocuous thing, really, froze us both. Even without the Force, I knew something wasn't right.

I tried to focus on the figures that suddenly appeared in the doorway. Ch'uul Bethra, the planetary governor of Yavin 4, stood next to an evil-looking Trandoshan, whose forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air in front of us. But at the same time, I saw a smiling, dark-haired woman with silver streaks in her elegant uptwist. She had Carth's nose, but stood next to a man with the same unmistakable set of his shoulders as the one I loved. I heard my voice echo in my head, but it wasn't mine.

"Mom! Dad! You're early-you should have commed." Carth's voice was surprised, and echoed with true pleasure.

"Hold it right there-" These flat and wary tones were the Carth I knew. He rolled away from me and off the bed, coming up into a crouch with his blaster aimed towards the two in the doorway.

_Carth! That's no way to treat your mother! Even if she is a-_Trandoshan? "What are you doing here?" I asked.

Bethra's face twisted into an ugly snarl. "Simple. You killed my wife. Now I kill your husband. Then I kill you." He aimed his blaster and fired.

I flung out a hand, intending to use the Force to deflect the bolt. But my gesture was futile and the crimson bolt struck Carth in the chest. He fell back onto the bed, across my legs, and I screamed.

That silver thread between us stretched thin, and this time, I was the one shoving energy down it. I sent him a silent message to hold on, just stay with me long enough. He looked up at me. "Just a-stunner," he mumbled between shallow breaths.

"What will you do now?" I asked Bethra, fury coloring my voice even as I tried to keep my fear and grief in check. "Here's a secret-I can't touch the Force. Darth Revan is no more. Will you throw your life-your career-away for revenge on a shell?"

"You don't seem to understand the depths of my hatred for you," he growled. "I told you, you killed my wife."

"Darth Revan killed a lot of people. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm not her." My words were heartfelt, and maybe for the first time, I really believed them. But my focus remained on Carth. The only thing that kept him from death was the armor he wore-once Darth Bandon's; once the stuff I made him wear by cheating at Pazaak. Thank the Force for my flexible morals. He clawed weakly at his chest. I struggled to sit up, at the end of my own strength.

"You still fail to understand," he said. "How someone so stupid could have ever controlled the Sith when my love held so much more knowledge, I'll never know."

"Then enlighten me," I said, getting irritated in spite of my precarious position. "Tell me what it is Darth Revan did to your wife."

"For the last time!" he shouted. "It was you! You killed Xartha! Not Darth Revan. Noura Den Hades, puppet of the Jedi. You murdered her! She had such knowledge. She knew what secrets lay in the ruins of this jungle, and she knew how to unearth them. We would have ruled. And you killed her. I saw her body. You cut her to ribbons and for that, I'll kill you."

My luck, it appeared, had finally run out. I lay there, unable to move, as he brought the blaster up and pulled the trigger. Point-blank range as he was, there was no way he'd miss. The Force closed to me, there was no way I could deflect. And I had no armor to shield myself. "Do it, then," I said flatly. "See if it changes anything." I waited for the burn and the smoke and the smell of charred flesh to be the last things I ever smelled.

Beside me, I felt Carth twitch. "The lady's right. You got the wrong person," he wheezed. He rolled to his side. "She didn't kill your wife," he said. "I did. Your woman was dead when she got there." A dark and humorless smile appeared on his face. I didn't like that smile. I remembered too well the dream-Carth I faced inside the Force back in the jungle.

I tried to reach into it again. The Force. Tried to feel him, but except for the thin silver thread of love tying his heart to mine, I was blind.

I don't know where he hid the vibro-dagger. I expected a hold-out blaster-he always preferred a ranged weapon over a melee one. I don't know where he hid it, but he planted it and it bloomed in Ch'uul Bethra's throat. The man collapsed to the ground and bled silently.

I looked to the Trandoshan. "Did I kill your family, too?" I asked quietly.

He shook his draconian head. "I'm just in it for the money. My employer will reward me handsomely for any...parts...of Darth Revan I bring back."

"Fine," I said. I reached down and pulled the mask of Darth Revan out from under my hip. I flung the metal faceplate at him. He caught it awkwardly. "Darth Revan is dead," I said.

The Trandoshan looked down at his fallen companion, looked up at me, and looked at the mask in his hand. "Dead enough for me," he said finally.

"Spread the word. And take the corpse with you when you leave," I said coldly and turned to Carth, the Trandoshan no longer significant. I heard him drag the body of the governor out the door while I shoved the armor aside and looked at Carth's new wounds. This time, I was the one that found the kolto pack and injected it.

He waved me away. "I'm fine. Just stunned."

"I'm not," I said. A heavy weight lodged itself in my chest. "It's always going to be like this, Carth. Wherever we go in the Republic, we're going to have Darth Revan's past following us like a porter droid carrying an overload of ugly and very distinctive baggage."

"Shh," he said, flopping onto his stomach and hugging my knees. "I have a plan for that."

"Tell me."

He shook his head. "Later. For now, I want you to get better."

I shook my head. "I'm tired, Carth. Tired of running and tired of pretending. It's barely common knowledge that I was Darth Revan, and already I'm sick of having to defend myself or take out enemies I don't want to have." I looked down at my body, revealed by the robe, and noted how much of me was nearly as blue as Mission. "Canderous beat me good," I said and shrugged. It hurt. My scalp still stung underneath the kolto patch Carth had applied to the former location of my topknot. "Only part of it is because he's a monster in combat. The rest is because I believed my own hype. I'm not Darth Revan," I said, fingering the clothes that said otherwise. "And I'm not Revan the Redeemed really, either." The long, narrow window let in gray light that showed a letup in the rain, and a bit of weak sun coming through. "I just want to do right by the people I care about." I looked from the window to Carth. "Did I?"

He patted my thigh gently. "Bastila seems happy with the outcome." He bent to one side and winced. "Ahh...there's the kolto kicking in."

"I'm glad," I said, truly meaning it. "Both about Bastila and the kolto." I looked down at my robes, not really caring that I was almost nearly naked and had been throughout the confrontation. "Bastila-much as we fought and quarreled and tried to kill each other and are polar opposites in personality-Bastila has a piece of my soul, and I have a piece of hers. Like sisters. And neither one of us can survive with hate festering so deeply within us."

"That's the thing about families, though," he said, after a time. "You fight with each other, probably worse than you'd ever fight with a friend. But you make up with a lot less reason. And you still love each other, even when you can't stand each other's choices. Or personalities."

All the times I'd wished that my Force-bond would be with him instead of Bastila...I was glad now that I hadn't gotten my wish. The bond I forged with Carth was something so much more. It was free of the Force, not something manipulated by destinies or some larger power, but something that belonged to the two of us alone, made by us and shared only between our two hearts. "I guess that's how normal people do it, huh?"

He nodded. "As far as I know. And I like to think I'm pretty normal."

I smiled with dry and cracked lips. "Maybe I am, too."

He shook his head. "No, beautiful, you're special. You'll always be special."

He moved stiffly away from my legs and winced again. "You rest," he said. "I'm going for the 'fresher."

"I'll come, too," I said, struggling to sit up.

"You'll do no such thing," he retorted. "I'm trying to be a gentleman, here. You're not making it easy."

"Good," I said petulantly.

He put a hand on my cheek. "Look, Beautiful. For the past three days, my imagination has been running away with itself, and believe me when I say I can't be with you and not _be_ with you."

"That," I said, "is the _idea_."

He grinned, and winced as he shifted. "I have it on good authority that neither one of us is in the acrobatic condition we'd need."

"Acrobatic, huh," I teased him, offering half a smile. "You're not making it easy to wait, you know." Only half a smile, because I wasn't going with him.

"It'll be worth it, I promise."

I gave him a look that said I expected him to deliver. He chuckled as he closed the door to the 'fresher, cutting out the last sliver of light.

In the darkened room, my eyes fluttered shut. I still felt the aftereffects of the inadvertent-on-my-part life force drain, and disjointed flashes of his life flickered behind my closed eyelids. Draining someone's life force is a thing of the Dark Side expressly because of this. You can't steal a bit of someone's life without paying the price for it, and it's not you that gets to pick and choose the memories of that life you stole.

I floated, buoyed by the soothing sound of the shower, and weathered memories not my own. Slight embarrassment at a risqué comment I'd made, surprised appreciation at being in the corridor when I'd been coming out of the _Hawk's_ 'freshers in nothing but a towel, a flash of terror just before hearing my voice over the commlink at some random moment on Rakata.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Aches and pains or not, I'm tired of waiting for the stars to align and everyone to leave us alone. Every single time I so much as kiss him, someone barges in on us and demands either our attention or our lives.

Well, I'm not giving up that easily. Eventually, the galaxy will run out of people to send to interrupt us, and if the galaxy wants a fight, then on this at least, I'm still willing to give it one.

I rolled off the bed, my body protesting. _If I don't survive this, I'll die happy at least_. I dug through the pile of clothes and equipment that needed washing in a bad way and was rewarded with some insurance. Thank the Force we're all packrats. I left the robes lying in a pile on the floor, along with my unhooked breast band. I limped towards the 'fresher door and paused only to kick my knickers into a corner before opening the door.

The room swirled with so much steam I couldn't see enough of him. At least, not the parts I wanted. _Soon enough_. "Hey flyboy," I said, coming up behind him. "Water is so scarce that on some worlds you can be arrested for not showering with a buddy."

"Didn't I tell you-"

"Yeah, you did. I'm not listening. I even locked the 'fresher door." I almost lost my train of thought watching the water run in rivulets down his chest, over the tattoo he'd kept carefully hidden for so long.

I stepped closer, consumed by a sudden and powerful urge to lick the water off his chest. "I also left a minor sonic mine in front of the bedroom door, for the really persistent interruptions."

He wrapped his arms around me. "You do know how to turn a guy on, don't you?"

A/N: For those of you who already know where to look, there are two "bonus canon" chapters that come between this one and the next one. ;)


	123. Denouement

Denouement

Jolee

_There ain't much more to be said after the prize fight, is there?_ Jolee snorted and pulled his cloak tighter around himself, feeling the chill in his joints. Time was, a little rain wouldn't have slowed him but-ah, hells bells-"time was" was usually just a euphemism for "back when I was young and stupid." _Now I'm old and not much smarter. And I move a lot slower_.

The clustered folk began to disperse not long after Revan fell prone and Mission put a new hat on Canderous's enviably still hairy head. The mercs gathered up their wounded and-where they cared-their dead, or where they didn't care, looted the bodies. The other spectators - Fouries, Jedi, journalists, and the other riff-raff, drifted off in small gossipy clusters, towards the transports they rode in on.

"Hey old man," a female voice cut through the background noise. "Just the being I was looking for to hold up the other end of the bar at a cantina that doesn't exist."

He turned. Vima Sunrider held out a flask of something that glowed a pale blue. "Vima. I'd think you'd know I don't need a cantina." He smiled. "I see you're still wearing your clothes two sizes too small."

She gave him an unrepentant grin and did a little shimmy. "These hips have disarmed more spacers than the lightsaber on them. Why do more work?"

He laughed, refreshed by Vima's attitude. It was hard to remember there were still Jedi like Vima - living in the galaxy rather than apart from it. But he waved the bottle away. "Later. I'm still not sure all the kids are in bed yet."

She took a swig and snorted. "Two of them are headed that way, at least." She jerked her head in a northernly direction and he followed the motion in time to see Bastila climb onto a speeder bike behind Canderous.

The Mandalorian gunned the bike and the two of them sped off towards the desert. Jolee guffawed and wished them every speed. "He's not a bad sort, once you get past the machismo. Glad to see he's stopped living so much in his past." He offered his arm to Vima.

"He's got a future now." She took his arm and they began to stroll towards the Mirialis, where Varenna Aktil had opened the landing ramp to the Jedi and a handful of her closer acquaintances. Canderous and Bastila - resolved as best as the two of them could be. Carth and Noura? "Have you seen the young pilot?" he asked Vima casually.

She smiled. "I told him to get lost. Go find an uncharted backwater somewhere and start having babies."

"Think he took your advice?"

"They're in the lodge," she answered as they approached the large cluster of Mandalorians next to their transport. "If he doesn't take advantage of the time they have once she wakes up, it'll reinforce my opinion that they're breeding them dumber every generation."

Jolee threw his head back and guffawed. "I don't know if I'd consider the Onasi boy dumb-just a victim of an overdeveloped sense of chivalry. He's not an old rogue like we are."

Vima laughed. "You've got me beat, old man. I'm still a rogue-in-training compared to you."

He snorted. "You're holding your own in the rogues' guild, missy. Why, at your age-" His story was interrupted by the approach of Masters Vrook and Vandar. He groaned softly.

Vima chuckled. "Don't look now, it's the happy crew. You take the big one, I'll get the little guy."

Jolee snorted again, but was saved by Vrook's sour-faced greeting. "Well, Sunrider? You may as well give us your verdict now rather than later."

Vandar put out a diminutive hand to his companion. "Believe, I do, that Master Sunrider is Master by virtue of wisdom demonstrated."

"As opposed to me finding it in the bottom of a protein crisp packet," Vima muttered under her breath. Jolee clamped down on his bottom lip. Aloud, Vima said bluntly, "I'm recommending the council abandon the training enclaves."

Vrook sputtered, and Vima held up her hand. "Not simply because I find Bastila lacking. I don't. In fact I envy her right now, in the company of that strapping-" Jolee elbowed her before she could elaborate. He considered it his civic duty to the galaxy to not contribute any further to the apoplexy of a Jedi Master.

Vima swatted his hand away and continued. "No, not simply because of Bastila's fall and redemption-we all know that a fallen Jedi must find it within herself to come back from the brink and learn to live with herself. She crawled back out of her hole on her own-no thanks to your teachings, but not as completely detrimental to her development as it could be. You forged a tough sword, Masters. Tough, but brittle, once the weak point was discovered, and reforged through a Mandalorian weaponsmith-and Jolee, don't you dare elbow me again; I am showing considerable restraint in _not_ running with that metaphor. But the greater problem is that training enclaves make Jedi easy targets. How many young and promising students were lost when the Sith attacked Dantooine?"

Her expression softened when Vrook and Vandar's faces both went stony, a good indication of the great pain the two old men suffered at the thought. "Far too many," he said, speaking when they could not.

She nodded. "Training enclaves will have their time, I believe that. But that time is not-cannot be-now. There are few of us left. We are better as motes eddying in the Force, rather than colonies easily broken upon the rocks."

Vrook spoke, his words heavy. "I believe otherwise. There are strengths in numbers."

"Learned that, did our Noura, on this journey," Vandar pointed out, his ears drooping. "Yet your wisdom, we see."

"It's not just me," Vima said. "Others will have their say. You may yet have allies. But think hard about my words. Think hard about the Force, and the tears in it this war has caused."

After Vima's words, neither Master had much to say. With nods to the two of them, Jolee and Vima continued their stroll around the area, towards the Ebon Hawk. Once they were out of earshot, Jolee turned to the younger woman. "What aren't you telling me, girlie?"

Vima blinked, all eyes and innocence. "Me? Withholding information from Jedi? The very thought. Jedi don't do such things."

He folded his arms. "I got all day, Missy."

She crossed her eyes at him. "You're no fun."

"What am I, the floor show?"

She sighed. "I'm not either, and that's about all it amounts to. My farseeing in the Force isn't the least bit clear."

Jolee wrinkled his nose. "Precognition is one of the most misunderstood of Force Talents. It's never reliable. Nevertheless, if you've got it, don't ignore it."

"That's just it," she said. "I can't. But I can't make sense of it, either. All it is, is nothing more than this vague feeling that the last thing any Jedi wants to do is gather together so our asses can all blow in the wind together."

They passed one of the Mandalorian freighters. A large group of young Mandalorians had gathered under the struts, away from the aggravating rain. A white-haired woman perched on an upturned crate in their center. Jolee hesitated, curious, when the woman held up a wrinkled hand and her ancient face turned sly. "Gather closely then, young warriors, and hear this tale of our people. I will tell you now, how the great Mandalore pursued and won a fierce princess of the Clan of the Jedi Revan to make her his queen. And of the armies set against Mandalore's return of his people to greatness. And you will tell these stories again, so that our people may hear and remember them."

He shared a look with Vima. "That's a little different than I'd tell it," he said.

She cocked her head. "That's the thing about Mandalorians. Their sense of honor is only outstripped by their need to tell a really ripping story. Just thank the Force they never really developed opera as a form of expression."

Jolee felt a shudder pass through him. It was bad enough to hear the Ebon Hawk's deck plates reverberate with Canderous's gritty renditions of bawdy cantina songs and rude infantry cadences, and of course, new and different verses to that aggravatingly catchy "Starship Venus" tune. But to have it rendered on a full sound stage, with an entire cast and holoemitters and sets and-great banthas in the sky. "I'll take that flask now, young lady."

She passed him the flask and he took a long, satisfying swig. "Homemade?"

She frowned. "No, actually. It's something the Core is raving about. Some sort of specialty liqueur, only for the most sophisticated of palates."

"Ha! I've made better out of kshyy vine pulp. This stuff needs aging about a Wookiee's worth of years." Nevertheless, the hooch warmed his bones. And removed the visual of Canderous and musical expression.

Among the Mandalorians, he spotted one face out of place-although only by the fact that it was blue, and not by any other facet of its extreme youth. "Something vague, but wrong," he muttered, spotting the Devaronian sidling up to Mission. "I know that feeling."

On something more than a whim, but less than a premonition, he activated his commlink. "T3," he said. The little astromech warbled in response. "I missed you, too, sweetheart. I've got a mission for you. Or rather, I want you for a certain Mission. Think you can handle it?" T3 bleeped back. "Yes, I know," he muttered, "I'll never be as funny as you because puns are the lowest form of comedy. So sue me. Now take your funny and follow Mission wherever she goes. Closely." The droid frotzed. "If Noura were conscious, she'd order you to do this...'cause I'd make her, that's why."

At T3's next frotz, he blew out an exasperated sigh. "If I could send the Wookiee, I'd much rather send him. But you're more devious and can be stored with overhead luggage." He commed off.

"What was that all about?"

"Me not trusting sleazy red Devaronians no matter what little blue Twi'leks say about being able to handle them."

"Have to keep taking care of them, do you?"

"Do I look like I have anything else to do?" he grumbled. "Besides, you look at that little blue face and tell me you wouldn't want to keep it out of trouble."

"Aggravating when they're cute, aren't they?"

"Yeah, just like someone else I know."

"Shut up, old man." But Vima's heart didn't seem to be in the insult.

"Still thinking about that bad feeling?" he asked, gently now, and without the humor.

She looked off into the distance. "Just promise me-you can disappear this time just as easily as you did the last."

Jolee frowned now. "I don't know if I can do that, Vima. I'm getting tired. Tired of the running, the fighting, tired of the damn Sith or whatever Next Big Evil comes by." He flung a hand out towards the young Mandalorians. "These whelps think heroism is getting mad enough to fight something. I say it's when people get too damn tired of avoiding it." He sniffed.

"You're probably right," Vima said. "All the same-"

"All the same," he cut her off, "There are others that need wisdom more than an old coot like me. Like the Onasi kid."

"Ah, yes. Split personality, Jedi style." She grimaced. "You want me to do something about that?"

He shrugged. "I'm not the Master, here, missy."

"They only gave me the title because of my mother," she retorted. "But I guess if nobody else will..."

He was careful to not smile. "It's the province of the aged to shepherd the young," he said. "Not that you're aged by any means not directly related to the wisdom of your experience."

"Keep it coming, old man," she said. "It's not at the tops of my boots yet."

"Hah!" He laughed hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and spent a moment wiping them away. "Well, somebody's got to be teaching these kids the way of things. Better you and me than some others we could name."

"What would you teach them, though?" Vima asked. "The whole Revan story? The fall and after the fall?"

"Oh yes. I'd teach them all about the heights of her arrogance, and the heights of our own. I'd teach them about the plummet-and let them do their own swan-diving as well."

"But what about the after?" she said, slanting a green glance at him again. "How would you write the ending? What happens after the fall?"

He stared off into the distance as the rain began to let up. A sliver of watery orange sunlight filtered through a break in the clouds. "After the fall?" He took another long pull from her flask and let the liquor warm his old bones. "After the fall, you get back up again, I reckon. As many times as it takes, until you get that at the heart of it all, even with the Force propping you up, you still got to stand on nothing more than your own two feet."

FIN


	124. EpilogueAuthor's Notes

Author's Notes

Athenaprime

A hundred and twenty three chapters. Congratulations, Madam, it's a Hutt!

When I started this endeavor over Thanksgiving 2003, I never expected to still be working on it through Valentine's Day 2005. After the Fall was started solely for the purpose of getting a little closure on the Revan/Carth romance. All I wanted was the same fade-to-black kiss that the guys got in-game with Bastila. Everyone else's side stories were simply meant to provide vague hints that life continues and resolves after the Star Forge, except for Canderous and Bastila. They weren't supposed to be anything more than a band-aid for each other.

But then the characters sort of ran away with the story. Carth had a dark side that needed exorcising, once he'd run out of people outside of himself to save. And Dustil had an issue or two to work through about the crew of the Hawk, and the people-especially the new girlfriend-his dad had taken up with.

And who could resist the call of the entire galaxy, who declared they wouldn't be silenced over the knowledge that Darth Revan walked again in their midst. People weren't just going to sit back and take the word of the Jedi that "it's okay, Revan's _good_ now." Especially when Revan wasn't quite sure of it herself.

All the while, Canderous and Bastila-well, mostly Canderous at first-kept insisting their story wasn't over. That there was more behind their start and finish than I'd originally suspected. I'd already known that Bastila's story was far from over-one doesn't simply walk away from a fall to the Dark side and just continue business as usual. She wanted to work through it, and she wanted to drag me with her. The more times I played through the game-even small bits and pieces to simply review some single event that happened on one planet-the more I saw of the depths of Bastila's character-especially in the company of a female Revan, and the more I wanted to explore why she'd chosen the path she did to deal with her fall. And of course, I had to know why Canderous let her draw him into it. Beyond the obvious (duh). ;)

At the end of it all, hindsight is 20/20, and looking at the story now, I can see it's really kind of a trilogy. The first book is Revan's Fall, and comprises chapters 1-18. The second book is Carth's Fall, and runs from chapters 19-42. The third book is Bastila's Redemption and the Epilogue, and is made up of chapters 43-123. Mission's story runs through all three books, and is still not quite resolved. She's got some growing up to do.

For those of you who have given me compliments on my Mandalorians, I thank you all very much. Truthfully, there's precious little out there on Mandalorians. There's a pretty extensive site that's a source for an online roleplay group that has a history and such, but that history isn't based on canon that I've found from any other source. Mine isn't much based on canon, either. There just isn't much canon out there. What I've done, is developed a culture based on a military society. My sources include the following comics: Jango Fett: Open Seasons, Tales of the Jedi Vol. 1 (Knights of the Old Republic), Tales of the Jedi Vol. 2 (Dark Lords of the Sith), Tales of the Jedi Vol. 3 (The Sith War), and Tales of the Jedi - Redemption (selected portions, as I can't find a copy of my own cheap enough) for the Mandalorians and Vima Sunrider.

Other sources I attribute to my design of the Mandalorians are real-life cultures oriented around clans or tribes. My Mandalorians are a combination of Vikings, Highland Scots, Berbers, Mongols, Samurai, and Ottoman Turks. The culture in its height was comprised of several classes of individuals. Only the warrior class earned citizenship and essentially served as the ruling class. Administrative and agricultural/industrial classes existed as subgroups of the Mandalorians, and the warriors negotiated trade and protection agreements with the other two classes. Both men and women of the warrior class served in the military, although many women of the warrior class serve as teachers, technicians, defensive specialists, or rear-guard support while they are in childbearing years.

Folk from other classes were not prohibited from moving into the warrior class through wartime battle activities, or peacetime dueling skill, however it wasn't very common, as it was difficult for the other classes to find battle opportunities. Conquered peoples are integrated into the lower classes, with the exception of warriors from the conquered who distinguish themselves. Conquered warriors from compatible cultures are put to work in military support, and occasionally adopted into the culture.

Honor duels are fought regularly, and every major social stage in a Mandalorian's life has battle in it in some form or other. Most Mandalorians take spouses from other clans, or other branches of their own clan, via Bridal Raids, as Canderous did. Mandalore himself, however, has been known at periods to have taken multiple wives, and it was not common, though not unheard of, for his most powerful generals to do the same, to cement clan alliances. Mandalorian young are raised within the clanhold, at first fetching and carrying armor or munitions for older warriors, then training from the time they can pick up a stick. Clanholds have clanmothers-female warriors no longer young enough to fight or train-who serve as nannies to young children while their parents are engaged in martial activities. In their early teens, after the typical Mandalorian has been training for several years, they are taken to their first real battle. Canderous fought his first real battle over the skies of Althir, at about age thirteen, which puts him at 53 in the game.

The Wayfarers originated when I asked myself-if Mandalorians put everything at risk when they war, and if they held the Republic in contempt for mixing military with civilian, then what must they do with their noncombatants? Especially when their idea of the combat zone is so broad as to include entire planets and systems. I figured they still had noncombatants-they don't just spring fully formed from each other's helmets-therefore, they must keep them far enough away to keep them out of combat zone range. In spite of-or perhaps because of-their warlike nature, Mandalorians place high protective value over pregnant women and small children. In the distant past of their history, before the first Mandalore united the clans, they were simply a loose collection of intertribal wars, and children were often kidnapped and raised by rival clans-a clan would be more hesitant to fight against its own, and it was a grave insult to any clan that failed to protect its own children. Clan tattoos became a way to mark at birth the members of a clan. When the first Mandalore united the clans under one banner, he took a wife from each of the clans, thus rendering family ties between the clans-the children of all the clans became children of Mandalore through matrimonial affiliation. When the Mandalorians began warring with other cultures, they re-adopted the practice of raid-and-kidnap of children. When the culture is conquered, many of the society's young people are already accustomed to Mandalorian ways. Mandalorians protect their own children from the same fate fiercely. Even though the Mandalorians kept the locations of their homeworlds secret, the very old-the ranks of whom rendered clanmothers-and the very young were evacuated in long-range transports and sent on evacuation routes around wild space, stopping to resupply at outposts along the routes.

The Jedi of KOTOR and the Jedi of the era as portrayed in Tales of the Jedi have differences that I attempted to address. At the time of the first TOTJ comic, Andur Sunrider was a Jedi with a family-a wife and daughter. Jedi were scattered, serving as individual, nomadic conflict-resolution specialists, and it was basically left up to the Force to guide Master and Apprentice to each other. After Nomi Sunrider called a convocation of Jedi in "Redemption," and since so many Jedi had been lost in the Exar Kun war, and at the destruction of Ossus, some Jedi felt that it was necessary to formalize their educational philosophy, and protect their students from the lures of the Dark side that corrupted Exar Kun, so they began training children at earlier ages, removing them from families so that they could be immersed in the Jedi culture and fully integrate the philosophy. So rather than being a venerable old institution, the Dantooine enclave is actually more of an experiment. With a few spectacular failures to their credit. ;)

I attempted to keep the combat in the story close to the combat in the game. Bottom line is that these characters are at or approaching 20th level at the end of the Star Forge battle, so they are pretty indestructible, and the use of medpacs and Force healing has fast effects. I realize this isn't exactly realistic-but rather served as a stylistic choice on my part. I wanted to keep the story sensibilities close to those of the game, and Epic level characters tend to be able to put up with a lot. At the same time, I approached the story from a humane, character driven perspective. I sought to place emphasis on the internal personal growth of each of the characters, and the plot sprang from that.

A note about KOTOR2: The Sith Lords. When I started writing this story, TSL was only a vague promise of a future development sponsored by LucasArts. I have had the ending of this story drafted out since July of 2004, so there are several points of divergence I expect to find between my story and the fates of the characters put forth by TSL. However, I'm treating TSL as another piece of fanfic in terms of the KOTOR1 characters-the original developers from Bioware were not involved in the making of TSL. In the future, I may or may not include some pieces that synch up the storylines, if I discover I feel the need to do so.

And now...for those of you who are interested in knowing what happened after Jolee's final commentary:

Ambassador Varenna Aktil continued her efforts to bring her people up from the mists of superstition, however, when word of the galaxy's prevailing opinions of the Yavin system inhabitants reached the elders of her people, they chose instead to return to their tribal roots and withdrew from galactic matters-and galactic record-until a time when the galaxy would be more welcoming to the heirs of Exar Kun's Sith legacy.

Belaya journeyed to Coruscant to keep her promise to Carth and Dustil to research more on the nature of the Sith poison in Onasi the younger's body. The Twi'lek female implicated in the bombing of the Governor's, Tann Teksa, remained in the care of the Jedi and eventually stabilized. Belaya researches on her behalf as well as Dustil's. Her journey took her to several more planets, and when her research permitted her, she formed a base of operations on the rebuilding planet of Taris, where she chose to make her eventual home.

Juhani assisted in the rebuilding of Taris. Her voice, as that of a Jedi and a Cathar, remained a strong one in the forming of the new Tarisian government-one infinitely more just towards nonhumans. She serves as the guardian of the sector.

Mission Vao accompanied Borx'amatto to Slooka the Hutt's compound. Once there, true to Borx's prediction, Slooka declared Mission his new "it" girl and set about making her a holovid star. Mission entered a well-respected Twi'lek dance and etiquette academy as part of her performing lessons. While there, she attended "extra" lessons that honed her skills in espionage. She's never far from her quirky astromech droid, and has a reputation in the holonews gossip programs for being a real party girl, however there are scattered reports-no more than rumors, really-of folk on worlds where Miss Vao tours, who've found themselves mysteriously relieved of debt to the Exchange.

Bastila and Canderous, with the Wayfarers in tow, made their way towards Mandalorian space. More and more Mandalorians joined them on their way-many to see the new Mandalore, some to challenge him. All challengers failed and the growing contingent of Mandalorians who followed the man they considered the true heir to the legacy of Mandalore. They finally settled on Canderous' homeworld of Ordo, prompted by Lady Mandalore telling her husband, "Pick a homeworld, you nerf herder. I'm not having this baby in hyperspace!"

Zaalbar went to Coruscant, and with the help of the Jedi, petitioned the Senate to levy heavy fines on Czerka corporation for its exploitation of his race. His efforts, while costly to Czerka, failed to put them out of business altogether, but earned the Senate's notice and a small but growing contingent of Republic senators began to respect the eloquence of the young Wookiee, and through him, began to reexamine their attitude towards the entire race. He returned to Kashyyyk where his father is grooming him to be a Chieftan, and he is grooming his father to consider a petition to join the Republic.

Dustil Onasi was grabbed by the ear by one Vima Sunrider and ordered to escort her to her next destination. The two were last seen in the Outer Rim, at the edge of Sith space. They are most frequently seen in the company of various Twi'leks, one of some former notoriety-a purple female with elaborate tattoos. The time bomb in Dustil's head was still ticking at last report, and the young Jedi and his unconventional Master-or rather, Masters-wander still. However, once a month, a single Nebula Orchid, native to Yavin 4, is delivered to Mission Vao wherever she happens to be, the note simply reading, "Friends are the only things worth having in the galaxy" followed by a random number.

Carth Onasi, along with HK-47 and the Jedi known as Revan, boarded the Ebon Hawk at Yavin 13 and headed into hyperspace towards Telos. While en route, the Jedi toyed with changing her name to something like Skywalker, but decided it was too holodrama and settled for Solo instead. Her hair never did grow back evenly over the bald spot Canderous gave her. The Ebon Hawk dropped out of hyperspace before reaching its destination, and the trio never resurfaced. It is believed that all hands were lost.

I've been writing fiction for a long time. In that time, I've learned that the writer's subconscious is responsible for probably 90 of a half-decent plot. Mine seemed to be working overtime with this. So my story is dedicated partly to my "Girls in the Basement." Also to my dear soul mate and husband, who put up with my pen-and-paper RPG experiments and "hey, let's see how this plotline unravels in game terms," brain-storms (plus the act of putting up with a writer in general, which is alone cause for admiration). To the folks at with whom I've had several hundred hours' worth of discussion about character, plot, SW universe canon, and whether or not Revan should be male or female. Y'all know who you are. Special thanks go to Intrepid, who's been beta, idea-bouncer, and all around galactic hero in general. And to those of you who reviewed, and kept reviewing, and kindly refrained from pointing out that I started being "almost done" around chapter 42 or so. The reviews I've gotten, I treasure-each and every one. I've saved them all on my hard drive just in case the internet disappears overnight. I go back and read them over and over again, each time getting a little thrill that someone cared enough to post something for me. Never doubt that your reviews mean something to those who write.

I've derived much enjoyment from writing this, and I hope that those who read it-and stuck with it through the huge amount of chapters-get as much enjoyment in reading it as I did writing it.

-Athenaprime - Feb 2005


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